Imperium Aeternit
by ArcturusWolf
Summary: Nirn has been unified under the banner of the Empire, and its subjects reach to the stars. Fearing contact by a hostile species, they build up their military might; what will happen when an intrepid Batarian slaver ring opens a Mass Relay and attacks this Empire? Will they ever accept peace? M: V/L
1. 01 - Empire of Nirn

_The year was 5E 1428, by the reckoning of the Imperial scribes in the White-Gold Tower. Centuries of peace had passed under the watchful rule of the first – and only – Khajiiti Empress of the Imperial realm, who had ascended the throne in the last days of the Fourth Era._

_Ever more intrepid with the re-establishment of the Mages' Guild, and its integration with regional centres such as the College of Winterhold, the mages of Nirn began to look into the Void to search for other worlds. The stars, they surmised, were not simply spirits of the departed Aedra, but were spheres of energy – much rather like Magnus was to Nirn, Secunda and Masser._

_And they were right. At least, when the first portals to other worlds were opened under the scrutiny of the Empress herself. The Void contained much, much more. The portal itself revealed a vast ball of ice and rock, upon which sat a great tuning-fork of some unknown silvery material. The mages could hardly contain their excitement upon finding this structure; for it was not Daedric in craft, nor Dwemeri, or even Aldmeri. It was ancient, its age beyond perhaps even the first intelligent life on Nirn._

_For years the mages had toiled to discover its origin, and what secrets it may hold. Not a single scrying-spell succeeded to discover any meaningful information, not even those cast by the Arch-mage of the Arcane University._

_It was not until his careless apprentice had shattered a grand soul gem upon it by accident, whereupon a stroke of lightning struck it; so great was the bolt of lightning that the hapless man was incinerated on the spot. However, the rings of metal within the core of this tuning-fork began to spin and hum with vast energies; and when a curious mage threw a shard of stone at it, he was simply amazed to watch the stone be seized by bolts of energy, and then hurled across the Void at an astounding speed._

_'This,' the Arch-mage theorised, 'Was a Gate to Oblivion, though not as we understand it. We know not where it leads, but we do know that it must lead somewhere, for if an object is not destroyed but is moved, then it must come to a rest elsewhere in the Void,'_

_And to his colleagues in the Imperial City Voidcrafters' Guild, he instructed them to construct a vessel for twoscore of his men, and supplies to last a year or two. To the Fighters' Guild, he bade the guildmaster prepare a dozen of his strongest and most skilled fighters. None knew what they were facing, though it was certainly better to prepare for the worst, than to be caught unprepared and be slain._

_Within a cycle of Masser and Secunda's eternal dance, the Voidcrafters' Guild had produced a vessel of hardened ebony. Upon each of its twin dragon-like wings sat a magickal cannon, deemed sufficient to blast any malign Daedra should it be necessary. And on its sleek, slender body was a vast shard of refined Aetherium, enough to render the ship invisible should it be necessary. Named the 'Wings of Akatosh', it was the first such vessel ever created to delve into the Void in reaches unknown._

_Throwing themselves at Azura's mercy, the Arch-mage and his thirty-nine followers allowed themselves to be caught in the energies of the great fork. What followed was beyond the Arch-mage's wildest dreams._

_They were not hurled into a plane of Oblivion. Nor were they hurled into a rock, as one of the warriors had exclaimed in her fear. But instead, inside the scrying-orb at the ship's helm, visible to everyone, was a world._

_A world that was not barren. A world that was even covered in the azure of water, and the verdant green of plant-life, following its course about the great yellow-orange star in the distance. It seemed almost a perfect clone of Nirn, if it were not for the fact that there were at least seven moons circling about it._

_'We must inform the Empress at once. A world of beauty such as this; why, it would be a waste to leave it so. Bring the light of the Empire to it, and we shall all prosper!' a Nord exclaimed, his ruddy cheeks glowing red in mirth._

_Upon landing, the magnificence of their find became truly apparent. Here was a world untouched by the ravages of war. Here was a world, teeming with animal and plant life, waiting to be harvested and used by the people of the Empire. The possibilities were endless. The Empress had to be notified._

_It was 5E 1429 when the Empress had decided to send a detachment of settlers to this new world. Though her face showed surprise, and even joy for but a fleeting moment, it was replaced by a dark mood. If there existed worlds outside of Nirn, so easily reachable as by these great tuning-forks, and they were fertile as these; then it was extremely probable that there existed other peoples – and other empires – elsewhere. Though the Empire had complete mastery over Nirn, and its peoples were numerous and strong, the vastness of the Void could not rule out that they were the strongest wherever they expanded. No, they had to become stronger, to retain mastery and control over their Empire, and whatever else out there be damned if they attacked._

_And so the Empress commissioned the larger part of her significant treasury towards the construction of a fleet of Void-ships, and demanded that the Mages' Guild and the newly created Craftsmen's Guild to work together to find new and more effective armour and weapons. For if outsiders decided to invade the Empire, they must find themselves so imperiled that they had no choice but to surrender. _

_To this end, the archers of the Empire were given powerful crossbows, empowered by the same material used in the cores of the great tuning-forks to accelerate their bolts to extreme speeds. Their bolts were likewise provided with enchantments to burst into flame or frost, or even bolts of lightning; and whereupon they struck, they would soon explode into shards of splintered metal, cutting and shredding flesh and armour alike._

_Warriors were afforded hardened ebony-glass alloy armours, impervious to all but the most well-aimed of blows. They too were forced, by Imperial decree, to study the projection of wards without the use of hands, so that should the enemy attack with arcane energies, they would be prepared to slay the aggressors with extreme impunity. Their weapons, too, had evolved; no longer did they wield clumsy and unwieldy battleaxes and warhammers, but they had been given blades of crystallised arcane energies. No longer was there a need to sharpen and to hone weapons for hours on end, when these would simply often melt through an enemy's skin, flesh and bone._

_And last of all, the ships. They had grown, and grown, until the very largest of them could hardly be classified as a ship as it was a small asteroid. And each of them were given a vast complement of mages, the best and brightest minds of the Empire, to drive them ever onwards and to charge the vast arcane cannons that lined the hulls of each._

_It is now 5E 1492. Sixteen worlds had been colonised under Imperial rule, and the people enjoyed a staggering array of riches from the other worlds. Dubbed the 'Outworlds', these quickly became havens for the poorer citizens seeking to make their wealth; land was abundant, and resources plenty. It was as though Kynareth herself had prepared each world for the craftsmen of Zenithar._

_But all that is golden must eventually tarnish, as thieves descend upon the Empire's richest Outworlds. Ardour's Gate, an Outworld with three great tuning-forks within its system, has had one of its forks inexplicably activate. And from this, a great host of alien ships had come; after destroying the three patrol frigates about the planet's orbit, the ships descended onto the surface..._

'Attention all fighters. Assemble in the Plaza of Eternal Radiance. We are under attack! This is NOT A DRILL!' the amplified raspy voice of an Argonian echoed through the halls.

For the first time in centuries, the Legion found itself tasked with more than simply peacekeeping. On the Outworld of Ardour's Gate, an unknown force had broken through the few frigates guarding the unopened Gate. What few transmissions were sent from the frigates before they fell silent had yielded little information, beyond the obvious; the attackers were numerous, and well-armed. Though they appeared to be a motley group of ships, their numbers alone had overwhelmed the slow-firing arcanopulse cannons of the aging frigates.

'Jurgen! Thank the Nine you're still alive. How many have we lost?' A bosmer woman called to her companion, diving behind a fallen pillar, and taking a cursory glance across the battlefield.

The anti-air cannons had been blasted from orbit, leaving nothing but smouldering cinders. The Plaza itself was rent with craters from the numerous rockets and missiles that the invaders had launched at the surface; her own post, along with most of her squadron at the north gate of the Plaza had been levelled by a particularly large missile. All around them the battle-cries of the town guards filled the air, punctuated by the high-pitched whine of a bullet or the whistling of a crossbow bolt flying through the air.

'Talos preserve us,' the nord muttered, 'All of our squadron, save myself and you. I'll be demoted for this, but to Oblivion with ranks and formalities! There are too many of them, and too few of us. Fall back, Una,'

'You can't be serious. You aren't facing them alone, Jurgen. Their rifles cut through ebony after four or five shots,'

'I never said I was fighting them,' he snapped back, glaring, 'As your superior, I command you to retreat to the command post south of this plaza. I've got a surprise for these four-eyed demons,'

He drew out a number of scrolls, each inscribed with Daedric runes. As he read the inscriptions upon each, he pressed his free hand against the ruined cobblestone, whereupon tendrils of flame burned a black sigil momentarily into the grey stone, and then vanished. Repeating this upon the gate's lock, and the floor in front of it, he put the rest away underneath his cloak.

'We need to get to the commander. Now! Move it!' he roared at her, sprinting through the ruined shops on the edges of the Plaza. Bullets flew overhead, one narrowly missing his head, and another had buried itself in his pauldron.

All around him the city was burning. Various buildings, once standing tall and proud, were reduced to rubble. The bodies of the city guards lay all around the Plaza, riddled with holes. Severed limbs from both the defenders and the invaders lay strewn across the once-pristine paved streets; and entrails lay draped across fences and tables like macabre tapestries. Even the sky itself had taken a brilliant orange sheen, misted over with stinking grey smoke. And all this time, more of those void-ships continued to land on the surface of Ardour's Gate, dumping more of those hateful aliens.

He swore to himself, that they would burn. The four-eyed demons, whose eyes told of nothing but arrogance and cruelty. They would be slain, ten of them, for each of those fallen today. And all their treasures taken as weregild for the injustice dealt here on this accursed day.

_Meanwhile, in Citadel space..._

'Preposterous. You mean that the Batarians have opened a Relay?' Sparatus growled, 'And this is not a joke, Spectre Bau?'

'Not at all. Batarian slaver rings, seeking new merchandise. Opened a relay in search of new persons. Spotted several cruisers and frigates heading towards relay before I was spotted. Had to leave,'

He cradled his brow-plates in frustration. This was not a good start to a day. Opening a relay without permission was among the worst crimes a race could commit, as far as the Council was concerned. Normally, the offending race would be demanded to provide reparations for the actions, and likely be afflicted with a few more economic sanctions. However, the Batarians were not technically part of the Council any longer, and thus were not subject to Council law.

'Thank you, Spectre. I shall consult with the other councilors regarding this matter,'

The salarian merely nodded, and left the councilor's office, leaving the turian to ponder an appropriate solution to the issue. It was not every day that such...stupidity...occurred, especially not after the Relay 314 incident. History, he cursed, had a way of repeating itself.


	2. 02 - Crusher of Slaves

A/N: I'd forgotten to mention, Nirn and the Empire are completely separate from the rest of the Council space at this time. Canon ME humans still exist.

I have placed Nirn in the Terminus Systems in this case, between the Attican Traverse and the Batarians.

Elder Scrolls (c) Bethesda Softworks. Mass Effect (c) BioWare. I own only the plot and the characters.

Also, wow. I didn't think there would be this much interest in the Elder Scrolls x Mass Effect fandom o.o There aren't even that many stories out there.

/ -

It was not often that Xarak was in a good mood, but the booty from this raid far exceeded his expectations. Sapphires and other precious stones aplenty, taken from the vaults of a grand building they assumed to be the palace. Vast quantities of an unknown, heavy and strong alloy, all thrown into the cargo hold of his largest cruiser, along with an even larger quantity of food and arrays of strange bottles filled with even stranger liquids. And best of all, the slaves! Most were like humans, their skin of various shades of tans and pinks, though a few possessed pointed ears and some even with ash-grey skin and blood-red eyes. Stranger yet were those walking lizards and cats; he supposed that they could be skinned for their pelts, if none wanted to purchase them at a slave market.

Tossing and catching a large emerald, he began to wonder. That these races, so backwards...so primitive...had even constructed a vehicle capable of traversing the vacuum of space, seemed impossible. His underlings had reported the weapons that they had used; he snorted back a laugh as he heard of their crossbows, their primitive swords and maces, their ungainly battleaxes.

'Bring me a cat. I've yet to practice my work on a living slave,' he growled at a merc, who nodded curtly and stepped towards the elevator to the cargo holds.

They had decimated the planetary defenses of this planet, and likely that was all these primitives could afford. He had time plenty to have fun with some of the merchandise, before they were shipped off to the markets at Khar'shan. Maybe he could even break one of them into a willing slave. Relishing the thought, he licked his lips as the elevator's doors slid open.

The merc kicked the cat towards the slaver leader, ignoring her indignant hisses as she fell to the ground. Bound, but not gagged, she unsheathed her claws, desperately scratching at the grey plastic of her bonds, spitting and hissing in indignation.

'So, my pet,' he started, walking towards her; she flattened her ears, but fell silent, 'How do you enjoy our...hospitality?'

She simply spat at him, a bit of spittle landing upon his boot. Xarak's face contorted in fury, and he struck the cat's snout with the hilt of his knife. Hissing in pain, she glared at him, nose and mouth still stinging from the blow. Again and again he struck, eight times, until three of her teeth and one of her fangs lay upon the ground. Allowing her some respite, he tilted his head to observe his handiwork.

He had to admit, the brown tabby cat was more durable than any of the human prisoners he had broken before. She still glared defiantly at him, claws still unsheathed, as though daring him to strike her again. Human civilians would have lay broken and beaten by now, unconscious, or at least wailing in agony.

But work to be done required its tools, should the slave be harder to break. He pulled a trolley towards him; upon it were various instruments, some of which would have been better left underscribed, such was their horrific nature. Cracking his knuckles in preparation of the work ahead, he picked up a simple straight razor.

'Let's see how much punishment you will take before you will bow to me and call me your master,'

Her response to that was a sweep of her tail at his legs. A feeble attempt to knock him down, he supposed, but he could simply use that as an excuse to have more fun. Xarak grinned in amusement; the Relay was definitely worth opening; if not for the profit, for the fun.

* * *

'Milady,'

The Empress of the Empire, she was called. And here she was in the throne room of the White-Gold Tower, shaking in barely controlled fury as she gazed into the crystal sphere suspended before her. The world of Ardour's Gate lay burning, pillaged by unknown assailants from an unknown region in the Void.

'How dare these villains run rampant among her subjects, the loyal citizens of the Empire? How dare they set foot upon its soil?' she fumed, rising from her throne, 'I want the survivors of this...incident...to be moved to Moonshadow's Glory. Until the 16th and the 21st legions can ensure that these villains are dealt with, I will have no more of my children threatened with untimely death! Let the town's guards be recalled to the Imperial City as soon as is practicable. I wish to speak with their captains,'

Her housecarl, assigned to her by the High King of Skyrim, grunted a terse affirmation and departed for the Arcane University with her message to be sent. She then turned around to face the Elder Council, who had gathered here in response to an emergency meeting she had called for. No; she had summoned them by magic, for it was infinitely faster than waiting for the couriers to find their intended recipients.

The council had appeared at their seats in swirls of purple smoke. Unwilling to wait any longer, she had simply summoned them to the council chambers. Vehicles, and the time it took to find parking in the crowded city, was simply a hindrance to rapid decision making. One that she could not afford, in times of crisis.

Sophrosyne, the Empress was called. Her Khajiiti name was long lost to the ages, as those who remembered had ceased to call her such. Instead, her epithet now reflected the peace and stability she had brought to Nirn. Though the Elder Council had questioned her claim to the Septim Throne, she had proven herself a capable and strong ruler, and thus the council acquiesced to her claim.

Or perhaps it was her brutal conquest of the Aldmeri Dominion, marked with the razing of every Elven city upon Summerset Isle, and the destruction of the Isle of Artaeum, that had forced the Elder Council to accept her sovereignty. Whatever the case, Elsweyr had quickly come back under the Imperial fold once the Altmer were driven half to extinction by her ruthless orders for mass executions, half fearful of retribution for throwing their lot in with the elves, and half in awe that the Imperials would appoint one of their kind into the highest office in the Imperial political machine. Even Gortwog of Orsinium, the desert lords of Hammerfell and the Bretons of High Rock had reassimilated themselves into the Empire...with a little 'persuasion'.

'Gracious councilors, I trust you have heard of the dire news upon one of our furthest Outworlds?'

A rumble of murmurs echoed within the hall, to which she assumed they meant yes.

'Then you will know this. Close to sixteen hours ago, the world of Ardour's Gate had fallen silent. My scrying has determined that an invasion had occurred there. The Tuning-Gate, once inert, had been turned active from its other half, and dozens of enemy void-ships have come through to assault our people. We have been caught unprepared, and our citizens – my children – have suffered for it,'

'Then what are we to do?' an Imperial councilor spoke up, his mouth curled in a derisive sneer, 'If our legions are led by one so incompetent as-'

'Patience is a virtue, councilor, as is humility,' Sophrosyne growled softly, 'Do not mock those whose plight you do not understand. I assume, that by speaking such, you volunteer to lead this expedition against the unknown? No? Then I assign to you the many refugees from Ardour's Gate to your colony of Frostreach. No doubt your citizens would welcome the thousands of additional mouths to feed. Forget not who it was that brought you your riches; the blood and sweat of lessers,'

His face grew red in anger at being mocked so before his peers. This cat, he swore, would be taught the meaning of humility. Empress or not, he was a noble governor of the realm, like his father before him, and his father's father before that.

'As I was stating previously. Ardour's Gate had been caught unprepared, and its citizens slaughtered like mere cattle. Bolster your defenses, take whatever you require from the Imperial armoury and the treasury. However, should I catch but a word of any...misappropriations...from any of you, you shall not like the consequences,'

Several of the councilors shifted uncomfortably in their seats as her burning orange eyes scanned the room. It was no secret that the Imperial political machine was, at best, a corrupt morass of infighting. The Outworlds' lords wished for ever more power. The Khajiiti and Argonian councilors simply wished for equality at any cost. Imperial lords, above all, wanted to enrich themselves, even at the cost of their subjects and peers. It was distasteful for the Empress to observe it happening; yet without proof of their crimes, she could do nothing.

'The 10th, 11th and 16th legions shall be moved to Ardour's Gate as quickly as is possible, to begin reconstructions, and to ensure this does not happen again. Councilor Lucianus will oversee the legions' movements to Ardour's Gate. Take with you construction materials for fortifications; I shall assign a thousand hundredweights of ebony ingots to be sent with you, for your craftsmen to do as they see fit. Ensure that you do not fail this task, Lucianus. The Empire's glory rests upon your shoulders,'

Lucianus, an aging, soft-spoken mage, bowed his head respectfully. 'It shall be done, your Majesty,'

She nodded in approval, before turning to the remaining councilors. Her glare hardened upon the two Imperials in the front of the council. Vinius and Lex. Their corpulent forms betrayed the lavish lifestyles they led at the helm of the two most prosperous farming colonies of Mara's Heart and Zenithar's Harvest. No doubt they had skimmed more than a few septims from the taxes collected upon those worlds. Not a single day passed without her considering their dismissal for embezzlement, and execution for crimes against the Crown. However she reminded herself that they, ultimately, were the most skilled administrators among the Elder Council, capable of effortlessly maintaining a rein on two of the largest worlds with less than half the army of bureaucrats that the others required.

'The two of you shall watch over the worlds of your colleagues, should they go to war. Zenithar knows that wars are fought and won with vast sums of wealth backing the strength of men at arms. Ensure _all_ of the taxes reach those that need it,'

Each nodded their affirmations quickly, stealing a glance left and right. No doubt they were already thinking about loopholes from which to draw further profits for themselves.

'As for myself; I shall lead the 7th legion to the front, to destroy the enemies wherever they may reside. May the Nine watch over the Empire, in all its glory. That is all. Dismissed,'

'May the Nine watch over us all,' the councilors echoed, before filing out of the grand double doors to the Imperial City.

Before Sophrosyne herself left, she felt a burning sensation just above her heart. The Shattered Amulet.

It was responding to the distress from one of her faithful.

And reflected in the crimson crystalline mirror of the Amulet, there was an image of a fellow Khajiit; within a strange metal ship that she could only assume was an assailant's.

And at that moment, every citizen within a hundred feet of the White-Gold Tower felt the ground shake as their Empress released a Shout of fury.

* * *

'You will speak my name with respect, cat!' Xarak roared, striking the cat once more with a shock baton.

Sweat dripped from his face as exertion eventually caught up to him. The instruments upon the trolley had all seen their use; tongs lay upon it, coated in slick vermillion blood, next to ten mangled claws. Razors sat scattered upon the floor beneath, all having drunk some of the cat's blood. Nerve-stimulant needles lay empty inside their container, having been used to heighten the sensations of pain – and failing to produce results. If she had been an arena competitor, he may have been impressed with her endurance. A lesser creature would have given up and submitted by now.

Her fur matted with blood, and chunks of her right ear torn out by a scalpel, she still sat there glaring at the Batarian. A number of mercs and other slavers had gathered around to observe the spectacle; it had been four hours since Xarak had taken this slave in, and she had not yet yielded him any satisfaction. Though her ribs were bruised, many of her teeth were missing, and her right ear a bloody mess, she was still smiling a cold, nearly-toothless grin. Her claws may have been removed forcibly, but there was one weapon which she knew that he did not.

The Empress watches over her flock.

She watches. She remembers.

And on the day of judgment, all wrongs will be repaid a hundredfold.

Raising her voice with the last of her strength, she barked these very words to the ship, knowing that back on Nirn, there was a vengeful spirit waiting to accept her back into her arms. With that, she collapsed onto the metal floor, spent.

'Damn. She's a tough one, Xarak,' a fellow slaver said, 'I think you owe me nine thousand credits now. Pay up,'

'Shut up,' he grumbled, 'How was I supposed to know they're this resil- hey, you hear that?'

The walls of the ship were echoing with the same chants that the cat had shouted before falling unconscious. The voices of thousands of angry men and women in unison, the stamping of their feet like thousands of heavy beatings upon a metal war-drum from ages past.

Down in the holds, the guards were stunned by the sudden display of unity among the prisoners. Not knowing what to do, and not willing to risk punishment for damaging goods, they simply stood back and observed as the prisoners' chants grew louder.

* * *

The prisoners all later paid for their chanting with numerous bruises and burns, as an incensed Xarak descended into the cargo hold to restore order, not even bothering to deactivate his shock baton as he struck all that would not cease their chant.

'What do you think happened to...you know, S'Tharra, your wife?' a captured guardsman whispered to his fellow, 'They took her away...it's been hours now. Do you think she was...'

'She's a tough one, she'll live,'

'You sound sure about that, Julius. It's not like she's invulnerable. I mean, she fights like a rabid troll in every training session, and I don't think I've ever seen her back down from any brawl. But these guys, these slavers? They're a new brand of nasty. Seen what they did to the Priestess of Kynareth when they captured her. I wouldn't wish it even on a Dark Brotherhood scoundrel,'

The hold's door lock hissed open, and the prisoners stood up slowly. The guards brought in a body of a Khajiit, her tail dangling limply from beneath her undergarments. Tossing the body roughly onto the ground, the guards simply ignored the prisoners' angry calls as they retreated back into the elevator. Apprehensively, the two captured guardsmen approached the body. She was still alive, her chest still heaving slowly, painfully.

'By the gods...' Julius gasped, 'This is...we need a priest! Now!'

She stared into space, half unaware of where she was now. Only the steady _drip drip_ of her blood from her ear kept her awake as it splashed against the ground. She felt a large, warm hand press itself against her cheek comfortingly, and the face of the Imperial she called a husband swam into view. Smiling, she purred softly, letting her body rest in his lap.

An acolyte of Stendarr limped towards the two, barely able to stand. Casting a feeble golden light over the grievously wounded Khajiit, he could only pray that the God of Mercy would grant them peace in the coming days. Bitterly, he thought to himself, such a miracle could not occur; not when these fiends butchered a priestess of Kynareth for merely protecting an errant child.

'Her wounds are severe,' he said slowly, 'I have done what I can, but I am but an acolyte with little training as yet. What was bleeding at least are closed, and she should not bleed any further. However, her claws and ears...'

He trailed off, unable to finish the statement. Julius merely nodded, his eyes burning with anger. When they were liberated, there would be much to repay in blood.


	3. 03 - Walking Through the Ashes

_Somewhere in the Terminus Systems, a week after the incursion into Ardour's Gate..._

'Shepard,'

'Illusive Man,' she spat, 'What do you want?'

He bit back an angry retort, maintaining an illusion of calmness through what he believed was a cool and collected facade, augmented by the comforting scent of cigarettes. He half regretted spending the billions of credits required to reconstruct Shepard – this perpetually-furious female – believing that she was a worthwhile investment to add to the arsenal of humanity's greatest weapons.

Had he seen her now, he might have cut Project Lazarus cold in its tracks. This small, blonde female, augmented by genetic therapy and various nanotechnological implants, may have been faster, stronger and smarter than any other human soldier, but she was by no means the most docile of creatures. Butting heads with her was an almost daily occurrence, as was the constant headache of ensuring that she never mutinied against his instructions.

Exhaling smoke, he began to speak. 'I have received reports that the Batarians have opened a Mass Relay near the Rosetta Nebula,'

'And what does this have to do with me? Time is short, and the Reapers are coming. Why should I waste time investigating the Batarians?'

'This,' he replied, the slightest tinge of annoyance filtering into his voice, 'Is why you are short-sighted, Shepard. Beyond an unopened Mass Relay there may exist technologies. Technologies which may put humanity in its rightful place in the galaxy,'

'And to lord over the other races is the right thing to do? You're delusional,'

'Consider this a suggestion,'

The comlink briefly cut, before changing to an holo-image of a strange creature. An upright-walking, digitigrade feline humanoid, bound and gagged, with the telltale mutilations of Batarian slavers. Another displayed a great host of men and women, all held in cages and chained to one another. And in the background...a host of Batarians, all waving their credit chits and pointing at individuals as the slaver upon the pedestal appeared to be animatedly shouting over the crowd.

Khar'shan's slave market. But what were those creatures? Shepard had seen many aliens, but never of that sort of appearance. Definitely not Yahg, not large or bulky enough. Not Vorcha either, they did not have that devilish, toothy grin that the Vorcha generally had. And the humans (were they humans?) appeared to be on sale as well. There was a vast number of them, too. Gritting her teeth, she pondered the possibilities.

If this was a new race that the Batarians had thought to enslave, then they would need to be brought to the Council for a proper introduction to the more _civilised_ parts of the galaxy, before they acquire a notion that every other race is hostile.

And if they could be properly introduced to the Council, then they could possibly be allies against the Reapers.

If they became hostile...there were simply too many unknowns at this time. There was no solid conclusion that she could come to. Only by observing with her own two eyes could she tell if these newcomers would be useful – or if they were a threat to the Council and its constituent species.

Cupping her face with her hand, she sighed and relented. The Illusive Man had won. For today.

'Damn the Illusive Man. Joker, set a course for the Rosetta Nebula,'

* * *

By the time the 16th and 21st legions had arrived onto the smouldering ruins of Ardour's Gate, there was little sign of any life remaining on the planet's largest city. Almost all the buildings had been levelled by orbital bombardment, and the bodies remaining on the ground piled into shallow, stinking mass graves. Whatever had attacked left no prisoners, and many of the corpses were so disfigured by burns, shrapnel and decay that the Mages' Guild had been requested to identify the fallen by magickal means, as quickly as they could.

'Is there even anyone still alive on this rock?' a legionnaire grumbled as he kicked aside a mound of snow and ash. Ardour's Gate was hardly a hospitable world to begin with, being constantly plagued with a combination of Skyrim's permafrost combined with the Red Mountain's ash-rain. Flows of molten rock still burned its way across swaths of land, and even the legionnaire's captain had doubts anyone would survive for long with the magickal weather containment barriers down. It was hard enough to breathe as it is with their barriers up.

His captain held up a hand, and the three legionnaires following him halted immediately, and crouched low to the ground. There was a frustrated, guttural outburst in the distance, along with what must have been an equally annoyed response.

'You hear that? Talking. And not in Imperial Common either. These must be the enemies that have pillaged this world,'

Peering at the distance, there was what appeared to be a crashed void-ship, and four humanoids walking around it. The approach was easy enough; there were plenty of fallen pieces of masonry between here and there, providing ample cover. Though when the captain cast a glance at the thick ash-snow coating the cobbled alley, perhaps it was not the easiest of approaches. Metal rebar and sneaking do _not_ go well together.

Sneaking was perhaps not the best strength of legionnaires. Even with their vastly improved armour, now coupled with weight-reducing enchantments, they were still extremely stiff and prone to knocking objects over as they advanced. And so it occurred again as the group's newest auxiliary ended up tripping over a length of fallen steel, barely fifty feet from their target.

When steel meets steel, you have a loud noise.

When steel meets even more steel, you have a louder noise.

And the auxiliary was wearing a lot of steel, with himself inside it. The metal rebar he had stepped on flicked upwards and struck him on the helmet. Cursing loudly, he kicked aside the offending scrap, much to the horror of his captain.

Needless to say, the Batarians were alerted to their presence, and an intense hail of gunfire peppered the legionnaires' position. Cursing Nocturnal for their miserable luck, the captain levelled his assault crossbow at the nearest Batarian. Three bolts sailed through the air, one finding its mark in a Batarian's shoulder. Each of them dived behind the broken masonry which lined the alleyway.

'_Patrol Six, I hear gunfire. What is your status?' _his communications-orb warbled out.

'Patrol Six here. Contact with hostiles, no casualties on our side. One lit. Fucking new guy tripped over a fallen scrap and alerted them. Orders?'

_'The Empress wants them taken down. Alive, if you please; she wants some answers,'_

'Copy that. Well, boys, what are you waiting for? Get your damn crossbows, load it up with some of the good purple stuff that knocks them down,'

Nodding, the others loaded their crossbows with their paralytic bolts, throwing away the silver safety cap that covered each. The quartermasters did say that it could take down a fully-grown frost troll with but a touch; hopefully it works on these demons from Azura knows where.

The captain looked sideways as he loaded his own crossbow. The recruits were beyond hopeless; the Breton boy was not bad, taking out a sentry with a bolt to the gut. The Nord, however, fumbled with his and managed to prick himself with a bolt, promptly falling to the ground as stiff as a plank. Rolling his eyes, the captain wondered how the fool managed to survive basic training. Raising his own crossbow over a particularly large piece of concrete, he launched a volley of four bolts. One struck a Batarian square in the face, while the remaining Bosmer legionnaire proved true to his ancestors' reputation and landed three hits on the other's leg.

'Good shooting, boys. Except you, Olaf. I should have you shipped back to basic. Command, this is Patrol Six, do you read me?'

_'We read you, Patrol Six. Status report?'_

'Hostiles down. One dead, three knocked out. Request prisoner escort,'

_'Copy that, Patrol Six- wait, the Empress is requesting contact. Transferring transmission,'_

The captain raised an eyebrow as the Empress materialised in front of them in a brilliant flash of purple light, flanked by three of her Dremora Valkynaz bodyguards. She wore a cloak of white bear fur over her gilded ebony armour, each pauldron shaped like the skull of a dragon. Walking towards the captain, she offered her hand; glancing at it in confusion, he shook it gingerly, fearing that he may have overstepped some Imperial etiquettes.

It never ceased to unsettle him, the presence of Daedra; that chill that settles over the air, as though the sun had darkened and the very air replaced with a sea of ice. Their predatory leers did not help his nerves either, though he saluted as professionally as he could. If only the same could be said for the auxiliaries; they had cowered behind a wall, while the fallen Nord had a distinctively wet patch of ash-snow between his legs.

The Empress viewed the scene before her with amusement. The captain could swear there was a small curl to her lips when she saw the paralysed Nord; granted, if it were not for the Dremora, he would have been on the ground laughing.

'Relax, Captain. Ralen Dres, was it not? I thought you seemed familiar. I believe it was five years ago that I was supervising your final proving at the Legion Headquarters on Nirn. You've come far, captain; may you serve the people well in the years to come,'

'Thank you, milady,' he stammered out. Cold sweat was beginning to drip from his forehead. She really needed to get new bodyguards.

'Is something bothering you, Captain Dres?' she queried, tilting her head to one side.

'Uh...just a little. Dremora, you see. I can deal with it,'

'Ah. I can assure you that my bodyguards would never attack...without good reason. Now, where were these...invaders...that you have neutralised?'

He pointed to the crashed void-ship, where there were four bodies upon the ground.

'Thank you, Captain. I assure you that we will not be long here. Oh, and one more thing; I would appreciate if you were to salvage any and all information you can from this crashed void-ship,'

With that, she and her Dremora proceeded towards the bodies on the ground. In her left hand she held a gem, black as the night and gleaming maliciously. A black soul gem, yet to be filled with the soul of the unworthy. She grinned widely as she bound the soul of the dying Batarian to the gem, drawing out his soul through the eyes. She would feast well tonight.

'Carry the three others. I will teleport all of us onto my command ship, once this is done,'

* * *

The _Wrath of Talos_ was truly a marvelous feat of magickal and mechanical expertise. With the resurgence of hidden Dwemer outposts in 5E 1066, and their subsequent reintegration into Imperial society, they had pledged themselves to the service of the Empire. As a symbol of the Nirnians' unity, they had constructed what they dubbed the first Imperial Dreadnought, the _Wrath of Talos _in 5E 1470. At three miles long, and requiring hundreds of tons of Heartstones to power its Aetherdrive engines, it was one of the most costly projects ever devised by the Empire.

Admiral Hodur Void-seeker stood at attention at the helm, supervising the throngs of lesser crewmen below. The bridge itself required a constant staff of nearly a hundred men to monitor readings from various sensors spaced around the hull, and to ensure that the ship never strayed from its proper course. Sixty thousand more wandered about the ship, repairing and recalibrating parts which had fallen below their best possible performance.

Dozens of arcanopulse cannons studded the port and starboard of the ship. A great many more lined the upper deck, ready to blast enemy ships to Oblivion. But the pride of the ship was the single ventrally-mounted cannon which ran the full length of its hull. Dubbed the 'Planet-shatterer', it was the single most destructive weapon in the Imperial war machine. Requiring the manpower of hundreds of Masters of Destruction, it had only been tested against an asteroid that threatened to strike Nirn. Needless to say, the target had been completely destroyed, such that only dust remained of it.

It filled the Admiral with pride; that a single ship could bind so many together, from various races and born of different worlds, into one common goal. To shape their minds into one collective. It was almost hypnotising to watch Khajiit and Argonians, Dunmer and Nords, working to maintain the glory of the Empire, without so much as a single squabble in months, save for the all-too-frequent bar brawls.

_'Admiral, we have an incoming transmission from the 7th legion on the ground.' _the disembodied voice of the ship's spirit called, _'Patching it through,'_

'Admiral Void-seeker,' Hodur growled, stroking his beard, 'And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?'

'General Quintus Tullius, of the Seventh Legion. Tell me, Admiral – are there any ships in the space around your own?'

'None except Imperial Navy battleships and cruisers. Now why does a footslogger want to know about what goes on up here? I thought you had too much fun down there, bathing in blood with your blades and crossbows to even care about the _bigger_ explosions,'

'Captain Ralen Dres has uncovered intel which you may find interesting, Admiral. I suggest you listen to it carefully. We're preparing anti-orbital defenses as we speak.

_'Video message begins,'_

'Damn, Xarak, you sure picked a winner with that gamble. Fifty thousand slaves, and several hundred tons of some super-alloy. You're going to be made in no time,'

'If those Council races don't grab my goods before I get to Khar'shan, yes. That rat Aksu. I still owe him nine thousand credits. I must be getting rusty, losing a bet about how fast I could break a slave in,'

'Heh, nine thousand credits is nothing. You'll be rolling in millions if this shit sells,'

'Millions? Make it billions, and then we'll talk,'

'Maybe on Omega, man. The Pirate Queen probably has that sort of money. But us? Citadel folks-'

'SHUT YOUR TRAP. I don't want to hear anything about those conceited, self-righteous bastards. Branding our annual hunt as a criminal exploit – it sickens me to even hear of them. Hey, you still got that recorder on. Save some space, I want to hear the next lot of slaves' screaming when I sleep,'

_'Message ends.'_

The Admiral whistled lowly, before saying slowly, 'I...don't know what to make of that. Even the Dark Brotherhood didn't stoop to mass slavery before we burned the bastards from the face of Nirn, and they were the most twisted and wicked Daedra-worshipping scum that ever existed. I...you haven't sent this to the Empress, have you?'

'I am obliged to do so, as part of the Imperial Legions' oath of service,' Tullius said in a flat voice, 'I believe you understand what she would undoubtedly do. Well, good day – I must prepare my forces for the reconstruction of cities on this gods-damned rock.

* * *

'Ensure that all the doors are closed,' Sophrosyne barked to her Dremora guards, who promptly punched the seal codes into the blast doors. Casting a quick silencing spell over each door, she turned to face the prisoners.

She had requested the prisoners be transferred to the lower cargo holds, and a set of black soul gems be provided for her personal use. A mortar and pestle too, crafted of sturdy silver-plated dwarven; along with a bottle of the finest Colovian wine.

'Wine without cheese. An odd combination. Should I ask for a wheel to be sent down here, along with biscuits, your Majesty?' Hodur offered, glancing at the Empress' dagger. It was cruelly serrated, appearing more like a pointed, macabre version of a surgeon's bonesaw than a proper weapon.

'You know as well as any of the other citizens that I do not require such foods, Hodur,' she said with a sigh, 'Bring me my first prisoner, and one of the soul gems,'

He picked up the shimmering black crystal, dread filling his heart as he touched its freezing surface. The feeding habits of the Empress were unlike the others. She was among the most ancient vampires that were still present within the Empire, the rest having been incinerated or interned during her Blood Purge of the sixth century.

Dismissing the Dremora back to their home plane of the Deadlands, she plucked the soul gem from his hands almost lazily. If it were not for the simmering fury he could detect in the blazing liquid-gold of her slit-like eyes, he could have sworn she was merely mildly annoyed by the report sent by Tullius.

The prisoners were lined up, kneeling upon the ground. Black bags were wrapped around their heads. She sniffed the air, savouring the fear upon it. Smiling grimly, she pressed her dagger against the first Batarian's neck.

'May Stendarr have mercy on your soul, because I will spare none. Not for you, nor for any of your kind,' she spat, slitting his throat. From his falling body surged wisps of energy, drawn towards the black gem she held in her other hand. She had his soul within her grasp.

'The mortar and pestle, if you please, Admiral. And the bottle of good wine. The crystal wine-glass too,'

No sooner than the Admiral had handed her requested items to her, she had placed the gem within the mortar and pestle, and cast a small containment enchantment upon the mortar. He had seen similar enchantments cast upon the decks of our warships, to prevent the Void from stealing our air, but never had he seen such usage of the power. Even as she pounded the gem to dust with all the rage of a bear whose prey had been stolen, not a single chip of the crystal escaped its vessel.

Hodur poured a glassful of wine, into which she emptied the powdered gem. Drinking a dissolved soul gem was unlike any other mundane drink, or even any other potion. The liquid hissed and roiled violently, its surface steaming and spitting boiling liquid in all directions as the soul attempted its best to escape its fragmented prison. While a white soul would simply transfer the greater portion of its energy to the imbiber, a black soul would impart much more. It imbued the drinker with the knowledge of every memory, thought and emotion that had ever crossed the mind of the victim; and if one were not prepared, or did not possess sufficient mental fortitude, madness would surely follow. Much like reading of an Elder Scroll without preparation.

Quickly downing the vile drink, she coughed and spat out a piece of gem which had not been crushed completely.

Memories, thoughts and feelings filled her mind. The last thoughts of the fiend, thinking about the profits he had missed by being stranded. The slaves he could have enjoyed at night. The glory to be had in his homeworld's arenas, pitting slaves against slaves for the pleasure of nobles.

Fear was thick in this one's soul. Fear of punishment for his failure. Fear for betrayal by treacherous slave-merchants. Fear for his own life.

Sophrosyne narrowed her eyes as she examined his knowledge more closely. There were the planets, linked together by Tuning-Gates. Some unpopulated, others densely so. Thousands of slaves thronged through streets, mindlessly following their masters. She could sense their despair, thick as the smoky and foul air that permeated their streets.

Searching further, she found a map of the known astral paths through which their void-ships travelled, each patrolled by large fleets of blocky, ugly ships. Each path seemed to lead to further gates, until a point where there was a thick mist which blocked out her scrying. Her attempts to gain further information resulted in her standing in a vast nothingness, where there was nothing but darkness.

The chunk of the uncrushed soul gem. It must have contained the information here. No matter, not yet, at any rate.

A steady stream of hate filled the next portion of his soul. A hatred for...other races in the galaxy. A 'Citadel', 'Council', and 'Humans' made up most of the undecipherable mess that she could see. Were these peoples at war? She filed away that information. Perhaps these...'Citadel' persons could be of use to her Empire.

Their language appeared next, guttural and unrefined, full of low rumbles and staccato words. Distasteful as their tongue was, she must learn it in order to communicate with what other races they have encountered.

She felt the soul waver, and the visions darkened. The energy was nearly all consumed by her hunger, and she retreated back into Mundus.

'They truly are disgusting,' she coughed, feeling the acidic aftertaste on her tongue, 'Even a chaurus' fecal matter had tasted better in a potion. These creatures have rotten souls. I doubt that even Stendarr himself would have enough grace to redeem these living pieces of filth,'

She stepped forward again, striking the second prisoner with the flat of her dagger.

Then in the Batarians' own native tongue, she spoke,

'May you find unrest in death, just as you have condemned others to slavery during life. Hm. Perhaps you may find companionship with Molag Bal. His penchant for rape is akin to your own,'

Thrusting the serrated point of her knife into the Batarian's chest, she bent there for a moment, letting his blood wash over her knife and her hand. The soul gem absorbed his soul as well, much like the first; however, she had other plans for this one.

Permanent imprisonment. Within the Soul Cairn.

By the time she had finished with the last Batarian, the Admiral had excused himself, throwing up the rest of his dinner in the nearest lavatory. Vampiric eating habits were truly unfit for mortals to view. Fortunately for whoever must clean the lower decks, she had burned the remains to ash with a particularly vicious stream of flames.

But the image he had seen would haunt him forever.

The firm and just Empress, clad in the silver and sable of Seventh Legion ebony-glass armour, spattered with blood, her hands doused quite liberally in it. She suspended the bleeding corpses over her head with a telekinetic spell, allowing the crimson fluid to stain her pristine white fur red, all while muttering praises to Stendarr, beseeching him for guidance in exchange for the blood and souls of the wicked.

* * *

_Khar'shan's main slave market, 1600 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

S'Tharra sat quietly in her cage, surveying the array of cages inside this dark room. The acolyte of Stendarr had been killed soon after landing, a quick, clean shot to the head. From what she could understand from the unknown language she heard, he was not suitable. Suitable for what, though, was beyond her guess. The body had been dragged unceremoniously to a waiting trash incinerator, where it now awaited disposal.

Every day more of the prisoners were dragged out of the dark, damp storage holds, never to return. She held no delusions; the chances of her being free once more were slim, now that they were likely in a realm far from the Empire's borders, and the chances of her husband being freed along with her was even less likely. Still, the teachings of Mara still echoed in her mind.

_Live in peace, honour your parents, and preserve the peace and unity of your family._

And what little peace and unity their strange family had, she must preserve. She flashed a grin to her husband across the room, who returned a weak smile back. He seemed to be idling with his hands, a common pastime – if it could be called that – among those who had not been driven to insanity by the hunger, thirst, heat and the damp, and the overwhelming stench of unwashed men, mer and beastfolk. Argonians in particular did not...ferment well. A few had perished inside their cages, and the guards had not bothered to remove the decaying corpses.

_Together, for better or worse; in wealth and in poverty._

Stripped to their undergarments, they avoided eye contact with the other prisoners. They themselves would likely be embarrassed by such exposure, had it not been for the fact that they were in such dire straits. Starving and thirsty, given little but a thin, slimy, tasteless gruel of some unknown seeds – it was worse than the slop they had fed prisoners in Ardour's Gate.

They all looked up as the darkness was chased away by streams of light, as the gates opened to allow the guards a change of shifts. But that was not all.

The relieving guards spoke a few words to the ones already present. Nodding, they pressed a number of buttons; and S'Tharra felt her cage be lifted by a crane, along with two dozen others.

Her husband was among those lifted, and she felt a tear roll from her cheek. Putting her hands against the wall of her energy cage, she mouthed her vows of marriage to him, as she had done a year and a month ago. Though the band of matrimony had been taken from her, and his from his finger, they would be together. If not physically, then in spirit.

_In life, as in death. I pronounce thee husband and wife!_

The crowds of alien peoples frightened her. There were enormous lizards, carrying shotguns the size of a small child, arguing vehemently with some troll-like creatures carrying flame-guns. She narrowed her eyes at the vast majority of them. They were the same four-eyed aliens as those who had abducted them and the civilians. Others seemed to be somewhere between bony lizards and featherless birds, complete with colourful crests. Even more strange were the aliens resembling cauldrons with leather helmets topping their rotund forms. But what truly piqued her interest were the humanoid aliens, resembling Imperials, Bretons or Nords. Were there, perhaps, other peoples resembling the races on Nirn elsewhere?

Her curious thoughts were interrupted when her cage came to an abrupt halt. Standing before her was a heavily-armed four-eyed alien. She narrowed her eyes as the familiar scent filtered in through the air intake vent.

Xarak. The torturer. His throat would be the first she would tear open, when – and if – she were be turned free.

'Julius,' she heard him call out, in that guttural tone, before dragging her husband roughly out of his cage. Her eyes grew wide as she realised he was about to do.

'No,' she gasped, 'No, don't do it!'

She could only watch helplessly as her husband wrestled himself free from the grasp of their captors, before attempting a double-handed overhand strike. Xarak grunted in pain as the sharp edge of the bonds cut into his shoulder, but returned with a swift stroke from his shotgun's stock, square in Julius' jaw. Pressing his shotgun against the man's chin, the Batarian sneered, pressing a boot into his chest. S'Tharra turned away, unable to bring herself to look at what would happen. Three blasts rang clear over the jeering of the crowd. She fell to the ground and wept.

Only a year. And a month.

And they had become separated. She stroked the patch of paler fur where that band had been.

Not a child to his name, or his likeness.

Not even a ring to remember him by.

'Cat,' she heard, before rough hands hauled her to her feet and dragged her to the front. She was barely aware of the numerous eyes roving over her mostly bare form, scanning every scar and bruise, evaluating what they would pay for her.

Hundreds of credit chits were waved in the air, and the slave-merchant began to call out what she presumed were numbers. If her clan would see her now! Auctioned as a cow or goat would be at an Elsweyri bazaar, stripped to her undergarments, as a common harlot would in disreputable alleyways! They would surely disown her out of shame.

But eventually the clamouring of the crowd died down as fewer and fewer credit chits were waved in the air. One final credit chit was waved in the air, and then none. Three counts, and the shotgun's blast rang clear through the air once more.

She was thrown roughly to the ground, and she saw the pointed boots of a woman before her nose.

And as she looked up, she saw a hooded face of one of those Imperial-like aliens. Her eyes shrouded by darkness, her lower lip painted with a broad purple stripe. Her hood was of a flowing dark material, accented by golden trimmings.

She felt this woman's hand grasp her own, and lift her gently to her feet.

Casting one last look at the corpse of her husband, S'Tharra bowed her head and followed the woman.

'Arkay guide his soul to wherever it must go,' she whispered to herself.

* * *

_Citadel Council chambers, 1845 hours, Galactic Standard Time_

Sparatus swirled a glass of water idly, trying to recollect his thoughts. The better part of the day had been wasted by those pesky reporters, who seemed to do nothing but ask questions which he had no answer to. No, he did not know what the new aliens were like. No, he did not have a plan just yet as to what to do with them. And no, he was not going to attack the Terminus Systems just to punish them over opening a Mass Relay.

The last question had humanity's councilor raising an eyebrow at his statement. True, there had been a brief war over the opening of Relay 314, with significant numbers of casualties on either side. True, the humans did not know about the laws before opening the Mass Relay. It was definitely true that the Batarians were around long enough to know the law existed. To everyone other than the Salarian and the Asari councilor, it seemed as though the Turians were playing at double standards with the Batarians and Humanity, allowing the Batarians to open more Relays while banning the humans from doing the same.

'We should negotiate with the Batarians and see if we could reach a diplomatic solution,' Tevos suggested, leaning back in her seat, 'Perhaps we can-'

'No,' he interrupted, 'Not a chance. Do you think they would listen? Attacking Citadel space and settlers in the Skyllian Verge, all for slaves? Do you _really_ believe that, Tevos?'

The Salarian councilor offered, 'Perhaps we could observe the reaction from the new race. See how they react to the Batarians. If the Batarians find themselves in a war, and they appear to be losing, we could help the new race. 'The enemy of my enemy is my ally', if I remember that human saying. Two birds with one stone. We remove the Batarians from galactic politics, eliminating slavers; and we gain a new ally. If the Batarians win, then the trouble remains in the Terminus Systems, and it does not concern us,'

'And if these aliens win?'

'No self-respecting race has yet refused an offer to join the Citadel. I think it would be prudent to have a stable government in the Terminus, under Citadel control,' the Asari councilor offered, 'What is the Hierarchy's position on this matter, Councilor Sparatus?'

'Nothing yet. We have no clear image on what their military consists of. The only fact we know for certain is that the Batarians suffered significant casualties during their raid, and that my sources inside Khar'shan report that the slaves have been offered for sale,'

Tevos gazed out the window thoughtfully. Finally, turning to the Salarian councilor, she said,

'Have a Spectre acquire one of the slaves. Officially, they're not slaves in Citadel space, provided we release them when we are finished gathering information,'

/-

I'm probably going to start adding Codex entries to supplement the story, as I feel that some details could be too much to write down, or are bogged down by too many numbers. If you are curious, feel free to read through the Codex entries. They are, however, not necessary for the story.

Every Codex entry is written by scribes from the Imperial Library.

/- Codex: Blood Purge -/

The Blood Purge was a campaign that the Empress had conducted to ensure her subjects were safer than they were in the centuries past. Unable to restrict the vampires' feeding habits to mere prisoners who were to be executed, she had committed herself and the Inquisitorial Order to a five-year clandestine war against all vampires who refused to be subjected to control laws. Those that refused to be registered as a vampire by Imperial census and be confined to vampiric monasteries were summarily executed by the Seventh Legion.

By 5E 1492, there are five hundred vampires living as executioners and Mages' Guild sanctioned alchemists, and a smaller number as Seventh Legion Inquisitors. These are believed to be the all of the remaining vampires, the rest having either hidden away very far in seclusion or have been destroyed.

Vampiric monasteries are prisons containing the most heinous of prisoners, who are slated to be executed. Sophrosyne, seeing practical value in allowing the vampires to feed and get rid of the need for specialised executioners at the same time, authorised the construction of these prisons where the vampires would live as wardens during the day, allowed to feed as they see fit. Should any new vampires be created by their feeding, they were to be destroyed in any manner the progenitor desired.

/- Codex: Seventh Legion -/

The Seventh Legion of the Empire has come under various names in the past. They were comprised of veterans of other legions, distinguished heroes and skilled mercenaries who had come to appreciate the value of regularly-paid Imperial coinage. Counted among the most lethal fighting forces in the Empire, they have one loyalty alone: to the ruling Emperor or Empress of the Septim bloodline.

Among the civilians and the other legions, they may often be known as Praetorians.

/- Codex: Inquisitor -/

Inquisitors are veterans of legions whose exemplary service have caught the watchful eye of the Empress. Allowed far more freedom than any other unit in the Imperial military, the Inquisitors serve as an extension of the Empress' will, carrying out extrajudicial executions of undesirables, and intelligence-gathering on sensitive, high-profile matters. They rarely, if ever, follow their home legion in standard offensives or operations.

/- Codex: Arcanopulse Cannons -/

Constructed of Dwemer metal, these cannons contain rods of extruded powdered soul gems, bound together in a gold lattice. The soul gems provide a means for mages to channel energy into a vessel, before discharging all of its energy in a single strike; powdering the gems merely ensures that all of it is discharged in as little time as possible. Gold, being a very conductive material to magickal energies, has proven to be the only acceptable variation for use in military applications where peak pulse power is paramount, and rapid charging/discharging is very important.

The higher the percentage of soul gems to gold, the higher the peak power that can be stored inside the cannon; however, due to the reduction of gold in the same material, it takes longer to charge a shot. Typically, anti-orbital guns which need only fire once every ten seconds are provided with a 20% concentration of soul gems to gold. The main cannon of the _Wrath of Talos_ is a 95% purity soul conductor alloy, allowing it to discharge an enormous amount of energy with every shot – but also taking close to half a standard galactic day to charge a single shot.

Because arcanopulse cannons merely discharge whatever energy was placed into it, it is entirely possible that a cannon be charged solely with a single elemental effect to apply that corresponding effect on impact, or be charged with multiple effects to combine them. An example would be charging the cannon with shock spells to generate an effect analogous to mass accelerators' Disruptor ammunition, or applying shock and frost as an equivalent of combination Disruptor and Cryo ammunition.

/- Codex: Ebony-Glass Alloy -/

A relatively new development by the Dwemeri was the ebony-glass alloy. Driven by the ever-growing needs of the Imperial Legions, the Dwemeri devised the ebony-glass alloy as a solution to the issue of protection versus the mass of armour. Combining the hardness of frost-quenched ebony with the toughness and resilience of tempered layered glass, it provided most of the protection of ebony while remaining lightweight. Given a thin sheet of ebony over the resultant grey-green mass, the ebony-glass alloy resembled ebony in all properties but weight.

/- Codex: Aetherdrive Engines -/

As the Nirnians did not utilise sophisticated electrical systems as the other races do, these engines allow faster-than-light travel using the Oblivion planes as intermediary steps, where a Mass Relay is unavailable. With a large amount of magickal energy, or the usage of a Daedric artifact, an Oblivion gate is opened to one of the many Oblivion planes, from which another exit is created. While for most part the gates' entries and exits are unpredictable, it is known that jumps through Jyggalag's Realm of Order result in the greatest accuracy for long-distance travel.

As very skilled Mysticism-school mages are required to tear the fabric of reality to enter Oblivion without tearing the ship itself apart, the head navigator in all Aetherdrive-capable ships must be a sanctioned mage of the Imperial Mage's Guild, with his or her Mastery in Mysticism approved by the Arch-mage of the Arcane University.

(Note: While the schools differ in TESV:Skyrim, I believe it is because of the dissolution of the Mages' Guild in the events of Oblivion. With the rebirth of the guild in this story as the dominant governing body of magickal use, the old classification systems will stand, as per TESIV: Oblivion.)

/- Codex: _Wrath of Talos_ -/

The largest warship of the Imperial Navy, the _Wrath of Talos_ resembles an enormous black dragon in space. It is three miles long, from tail to nose, and its deck is nearly half a mile wide. Weighing in at sixty million tons, its weight is such that even the most powerful levitation enchantments prevent it from landing on any planet. It was constructed over a period of ten years to avoid undue strain on the Imperial economy; its cost of one and a half billion septims had shocked the Elder Council, though the Craftsmen's Guild and the Dwemer Enclaves happily accepted the job.

Its armaments include 120 medium arcanopulse cannons for ship-to-ship combat, half on the upper deck and the rest spaced more or less evenly along the sides of the ship. 16 heavy arcanopulse cannons are placed on the underside of the ship, for the purposes of orbital bombardment. The single ventrally-mounted gun dubbed the 'Planet Shatterer' has yet to be tested on an actual enemy, being used mostly for destroying large asteroids which block trading routes, or those threatening to crash into an Imperial world.

Since it is expected that this dreadnought is to be accompanied by many smaller frigates and cruisers, the _Wrath of Talos_ does not possess light arcanopulse cannons for close-range anti-fighter/bomber defense, relying on fighter cover and auxiliary ships to protect it from swarms of fighters which would inevitably attack it in a protracted space battle.

/- Codex: Sophrosyne -/

The Empress of the Nirnian Empire. Born 4E 1 after the conclusion of the Oblivion Crisis, to the Champion of Cyrodiil, Ri'ratha, and an unknown father, claimed to be Martin Septim. A Cathay-Raht Khajiit. Raised by the Champion in the cloisters of the Arcane University, she would lead an isolated childhood. Viewing the other Arcane University staff as though they were her uncles and aunts, the child Sophrosyne usually followed one of the Master-Wizards about his or her daily duties, or otherwise read arcane books inside the Arcanaeum.

On the occasion that her mother was present at home, she would be told the tales of the dreadful acts that bandits and necromancers would perform on the innocent, further cementing her black-and-white view of the world. Those who opposed order were to be destroyed utterly, and those who supported rightful and just rule were to be treated kindly. Though initially her disposition towards corrupt underlings were essentially identical to that towards bandits, she had eventually acquired a practical view to them: so long as they do their duty reasonably, they will not be removed. However, once they have outlasted their usefulness, they will be held accountable for all the crimes they have done during their tenure.

Her mother vanished from the records of the Empire at 4E 17, coinciding with the disappearance of the mysterious gateway in the middle of Niben Bay. At this time, the Mages' Guild had become unstable, with its latest Arch-mage enacting more and more unpopular edicts to restrict the mages studying under the Guild. Thinking it preferable to move to a more secluded area to pursue her studies, Sophrosyne moved to the province of Skyrim, and joined the College of Winterhold.

It was in Skyrim that she first contracted Sanguinare Vampiris, otherwise known as vampirism. Having made friends with the Jarl of Solitude, she would often travel to Solitude in order to feed upon the prisoners there, with the Jarl's consent. Given limitless time due to vampiric near-immortality, she delved ever deeper into the mysteries of magickal use, for the benefit of her loyal citizens – and the destruction of their enemies.

/- Codex: History of the Nirnian Empire -/

4E 201, the reappearance of dragons, and the Skyrim civil war. Persecuted by the superstitious locals of Winterhold and appalled by the racist treatment of the Stormcloaks, Sophrosyne departed for her house in Solitude to continue her studies. It was here that Emperor Titus Mede II had visited, and fell severely ill with fever. Called to his chambers to heal him, it was here that she discovered her heritage. The Amulet of Kings, its gem shattered, rested in a display case on the _Katariah_. It was said that the remnants of the Amulet's gem called to her, to try it on; to the astonishment of Titus Mede II, she was able to clasp the Amulet about her neck, marking her as a Septim.

4E 201, Second Seed, Imperial Succession Crisis. With the discovery of a true Septim heiress, witnessed by the ability to wear the Amulet of Kings, Titus Mede II was called to step down by the Elder Council, as his dynasty was founded as a regency until such a time as a Septim heir could be found. Refusing to step down, he was quickly deposed by the vengeful forces of the Legions, who could not forgive him for sacrificing two legions to ensure his escape during the Sack of the Imperial City. Sophrosyne was declared Empress by the rebelling legions, as Valeria Septim I.

4E 201, Midyear. The Empire in Cyrodiil receives messages from the rebelling legions regarding the Khajiit's apparent Septim bloodline. A member of the Elder Council is dispatched to verify the matter; and finding that she was indeed capable of wearing the Amulet of Kings, her claim to the throne was made official, under the signatures of the members of the Elder Council. The Skyrim Civil war resumes in earnest, with the reappearance of a true Septim bolstering the morale of hardline Imperial troops and officers.

4E 202, Skyrim Civil War concludes. Ulfric Stormcloak was nailed to a stake and burned alive in the centre of Windhelm, along with any other Stormcloaks who were still loyal. Imperial funds flow northward to improve Skyrim's infrastructure.

4E 202, Alduin is defeated. Imperial control of Skyrim results in significantly boosted economies due to increased trade. The Inquisition is founded, as a response to growing corruption in the Empire. Inquisitors were given the powers for summary executions, reporting only to the Empress. Only eight Inquisitors were promoted during this time, all of them Imperial legates who had served with distinction during the Skyrim Civil War. The Black-Briar family is publicly executed for high treason after Inquisitors had found documents inside their home addressed to the Dark Brotherhood, requesting the removal of the Empress.

4E 203. Valeria Septim I orders the annihilation of the Dark Brotherhood. Employing networks of scrying orbs placed strategically throughout the Empire, Brotherhood assassins are systematically found, and their locations tracked. Sanctuaries are razed to the ground.

4E 205. Thieves guild eradicated by the same methods as with the Dark Brotherhood. The fabled Midnight Sepulcher is found and filled with mortar and gravel.

4E 206. Volkihar vampires destroyed by the Dawnguard. Serana joins the ranks of the Inquisitors, becoming Valeria's vampiric progenitor.

Island of Solstheim becomes infected by a mysterious sleep-walking ailment. Valeria requests investigation.

4E 207. Miraak defeated, and Hermaeus Mora is tolerated in Solstheim. Daedra worship partially permitted; the cults of Azura and Meridia are declared legal, though citizens still view all Daedric cults with mistrust.

4E 209. The first paved highway from the Imperial City to Skyrim is constructed. High-volume transit of goods and workforce begins; record profits and taxes are noted. Jarl Elisif the Fair becomes High Queen of Skyrim, after several indecisive Moots.

4E 215. Scrying network extended to cover all of the Imperial Heartlands. Imperial Legion battlemages trained in the use of the network, allowing faster response to crimes and better tracking of bandits and thieves. Public executions become ever more common, and crime rates fall.

4E 216. Mages' Guild re-established. Original schools of magic restored.

4E 217. Aldmeri Dominion claimed a breach of the White-Gold Concordat; it is believed that the reasons were fabricated by sleeper agents of the Dominion. Hammerfell, High Rock and Black Marsh ally with the Empire to fight the Mer, noting that the Empire had once again become strong. Elsweyr and Morrowind opt to remain neutral.

4E 218. Valeria I displays her hatred of the Aldmeri Dominion openly in a battlefield display near the port of Anvil. Causing the sea to open up with a particularly spectacular display of massed use of telekinesis, she and a battalion of Imperial Battlemages caused the Elven ships to fall to the bottom of the sea, before letting the water close over them again. No prisoners were taken; all Elves captured were killed.

Her policy of no-quarter for combative opponents would continue on until the end of the war.

4E 219, First Seed. Imperial fleet besieges the city of Firsthold. A demand for surrender was given to the Elves; the envoy was sent back with both ears cut off, and a refusal message carved into the skin on his back. Enraged, Valeria seizes a passing meteorite with telekinesis and brings it down upon the city, causing untold destruction. Surrounding villages were not spared destruction. All elves, civilian and military, were slain. Looting continues for weeks among the ashes of the crushed city-state. Upon the conclusion of the pillaging, she orders the soil be ploughed and salted, so that nothing may ever grow there until the end of time.

4E 219, Frostfall. Fall of Skywatch.

Their scouts having seen the destruction of Firsthold, Skywatch capitulates without a fight. Valeria shows clemency, killing off only Thalmor agents and the guards who resisted against orders. Citizens allowed to go about their normal lives, and Imperial Legion soldiers prohibited from violating any citizens' properties or rights, on pain of death. A tithe of one-tenth of all the wealth in Firsthold was requisitioned; but that was all that was demanded of the citizens.

4E 220. Incineration of Summerset Isle.

Cloudrest and Shimmerene remain defiant in the powerful central positions of the island. Elven battlemages prevent free movement of Imperial forces. Imperial Navy begins a bombardment of Cloudrest and Shimmerene using heated shot and burning oil. Failing to get any results, Valeria calls upon the dragons to assist in her battle. Dozens of dragons descended upon the two cities, killing thousands. Imperial Legion moves in, and every man, woman and child put to the sword.

Lillandril, Dusk and Sunhold's citizens become fearful for their lives, after hearing about the wholesale destruction of the cities who had refused to comply with the Empire's demands. Citizen revolts begin sporadically throughout the three cities, and the Thalmor are ousted from government by insurgents, replaced by progressive-minded younger elves. Peace envoys are sent to the Empire, declaring the cities and their surrounding areas outside of Thalmor control. These cities would aid in the final assault on Alinor.

Valenwood's king capitulates after their ambassador returns with news about the destruction wrought upon Firsthold, Cloudrest and Shimmerene. Fearing the worst, he sends his crown and a letter stating his abdication. As Valenwood had resisted, Valeria refuses the offer; stating that the king himself must die for supporting the wrongful rule of the Thalmor. Later in the year, the king of Valenwood commits suicide, and Valenwood falls under Imperial control.

4E 221, Sun's Height. Destruction of Alinor, and the Psijic Order.

With their allies turned into enemies, and the Dominion in shambles, the Thalmor call upon the Psijic Order for the defence of Alinor. Though the Psijics demand millions of coins for their efforts, the Thalmor acquiesced to their demands, seeing no alternative other than destruction. Artaeum appears in Alinor's harbour, complete with an array of grey-cloaked Psijics ready to defend against Imperial attack.

Psijics summon a storm to destroy the Imperial Navy, which succeeded in sinking two-thirds of the Nordic fleet, and half of Hammerfell's own. Valeria teleports herself and a cadre of Inquisitors onto Artaeum, allowing her generals to continue the siege of Alinor. Most of the Psijic order's initiates and masters were slain on this day, including masters Quaranir and Tandil. All but two of the Inquisitors perished in the battle, and Valeria herself was grievously burned on her left leg, which would take nearly thirty years to heal properly.

The ground battle continues in a vicious street battle, civilian militias joining Thalmor hardline troops as Alinor burns. Continual artillery bombardment nearly caused mutiny among the ranks of the Imperial soldiers, as it resulted in significant friendly fire casualties. Generals in command claim responsibility and offer resignation; Valeria refuses their offers, but offers the widows of the fallen three times their stipend in an effort to placate the legionnaires' wrath.

4E 221, Frostfall. The destruction of Alinor was complete, and the city itself was burned to ash. Stone buildings were torn down, and those few enemy Altmer still alive were offered no mercy. The Aldmeri Dominion was no more.

4E 221, Evening Star. The Empress Valeria begins reconstruction of destroyed road links to Hammerfell, Elsweyr, Black Marsh and Valenwood. Elsweyr and Black Marsh accept Imperial sovereignty, followed closely by Valenwood and Hammerfell. Summerset Isle ceases to exist as a province, having been ravaged beyond repair in a significant portion of its land. Lillandril, Dusk, Sunhold and Skywatch dwindles in population and importance, until they were abandoned by 5E 4.

All provinces in the Empire benefits from state-sponsored research into crops that would grow under adverse conditions, with better yields. Prices for food falls significantly as these new crop-seeds are issued to every able farmer.

4E 222, Morning Star. Empress Valeria declared Empress of Tamriel as Morrowind rejoins the Empire. With no further wars to be fought, Legion soldiers were permitted to return home for extended leave. Celebrations run wild throughout Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Even Windhelm's citizens drank to the fall of the Thalmor and the Dominion.

4E 222, Hearthfire. The new Arch-mage of the Mages' Guild establishes basic magic training schools, with the endorsement of the priesthoods of the Nine Divines. Basic restoration and alchemy taught at schools, as well as reading and writing. An edict is passed that makes attendance at schools compulsory for any children between the ages of 7 and 16, with those intending to go to the Arcane University continue on until they reach 18 years of age. Fees would be paid for using Imperial coffers, for those without the means to pay for it. Literacy would increase sharply in the coming years, among all the classes, especially the working class.

4E 223, Rain's Hand. The Guild of Craftsmen is founded by Imperial decree, to oversee the continuation of knowledge from masters of every craft to their students. Guildhalls open in Solitude, Bravil and Cheydinhal.

4E 224, Second Seed. Hammerfell discovers the secret of flight by accident, after a wayward mage combined a scroll of fortify acrobatics with speed. Having worn a cloak with a rigid frame, the mage had miscast his spell, causing the frame and the cloak to grow to absurd proportions. Yet in the air, this was what kept him aloft. Citizens of Stros M'Kai swore on that day that they heard someone screaming in a mixture of fear and excitement, from 'up high in the sky'.

4E 225 / 5E 1, Morning Star. Elder Council declares a new era as peace and prosperity reigns over the Empire. Networks of scrying orbs are provided to every province in a concerted effort to reduce crime. Public works continue to improve the standard of living in every province of the Empire. Scrying orbs available to every home as a means for rapid distribution of information and up-to-date news, broadcasted from the central orb at the peak of the White-Gold Tower.

4E 225 / 5E 1, Midyear.

Valeria calls the Elder Council together at the peak of the White-Gold Tower, and confesses that her longevity was not due to her mastery of magickal energies, but rather was due to her vampirism. She asks the citizens of the Empire for their opinion, using the scrying network; if they were opposed to her rule, then she would step down and allow the Elder Council to rule in her stead, allowing herself to retreat to a life of study and research out of sight.

4E 225 / 5E 1, Sun's Height.

Valeria was recalled to the Elder Council's hall, where she met the head of every Imperial province. Each, with the notable exception of Valenwood, had accepted her confession and were willing to work with it, so long as she would never feed upon law-abiding citizens. Valenwood had instead offered to find her a cure, which she refused. Stating that she loved her 'children' far too much to allow them to slip into fighting their own brethren if she were no more, the Eternal Thirst would be a small price to pay for the ability to maintain the stability of the Empire for all eternity. The epithet of Sophrosyne was bestowed upon her by the Cyrodilic councilor, in recognition of her firm and just rule of the Empire.

5E 2...

redacted by order of the Imperial Library

/- A/N:

Wow, thanks for that long review Mike (guest). I'd intended to write more, but at the time I had no idea how fast/long/etc readers wanted the chapters. I guess the worst judge of a story's pacing is the author; I tend to assume knowledge that the readers (obviously) would not. In the coming chapters, I will try to remedy that. Rest assured that this is a long-term project; I do not intend to abandon it early, or cut things short.

The Empress, being an autocrat (to the point of where one may consider her a dictator; see Robert Edwin House of Fallout: New Vegas, or the more volatile Caesars of the Roman Empire), would naturally not have to discuss matters of policy openly, at least with the greater part of the aristocracy or the councilors, except for those she may consider her confidants. Questioning her policies would likely result in the quiet 'retirement' of said councilor. I will cover this throughout the stories as the populist policies she has instated throughout her reign begin to... well, I'll let you guys find out ;)

KleverKilva: Arcanorifles are intended to be present in this fic as the smaller analogues of arcanocannons. But as at least expert-level mages are required to charge arcanocannons, so too do the rifles. Even though the majority of the Empire is literate by 5E 1492, the usage of arcano-weapons require at least the equivalent of Adept to Expert-level Destruction – not something that can easily be taught when most people only follow baseline education standards. Specialised squads do use them, though.

NB: History is written by the victors. Treat the Codex entries with caution.

Okay. That aside, I've got a few housekeeping matters to deal with. First is that university term is back on (D:), which means that I will **try** to update regularly, when work permits. Second is that if you guys don't hear from me, I'm likely just busy with work. But I won't let this hit the dump, you have my word.

ArcturusWolf, signing out.


	4. 04 - Interlude I - Prelude to War

_Imperial City, White-Gold Tower, 5E 1492, Fourth day of Sun's Height. 2045 hours Nirnian Standard Time._

The Imperial Library's restricted reading room was a vast, richly decorated space with an even richer history. Some may even call it colourful, perhaps even more so than the various tapestries which adorn its walls. Tapestries that depict events of great importance to the Imperial throne. What was never depicted, however, was what people tended to discuss within this chamber. Guarded day and night from commoners, thieves and lesser nobles, only Imperial councilors could use its lavish furnishings of silks and velvets, its Dwemer-made lamps and crystal reading lenses. But more often than not, this was the place where Emperors were made and unmade, where political daggers were sharpened before their use.

'Are you sure it is safe for us to discuss this here, Marcus? You know it is high treason to even _suggest_ such a thing!' an Argonian councilor whispered to his Imperial counterpart. The rotund, stocky man shifted in his plush velvet seat, viewing the Argonian with a mixture of annoyance and disdain.

'Are you willing to forever be a footstool to that blood-drinking witch, Holds-His-Breath? I think it is high time that we remove her from the Imperial throne while the chance exists. If the _Wrath of Talos_ were to have an...unfortunate accident, the Void would swallow all of the evidence. A perfect crime, if you will,'

If the Argonian could have flown from the room, he would have done so. Standing up abruptly, he knocked down his chair and several stacked tomes, causing a passing Nordic councilor to raise an eyebrow at them. Composing himself, he glared at the Imperial.

'I may be an Imperial servant, _sir_, but I am no fool. Nor am I a traitor. The Empress has done nothing but work tirelessly towards the advancement of Argonia and its citizens. What would I be to my own people, if I were to bring about the downfall of their only benefactor among the Elder Council? What then, if you were to rise to power? No doubt you would pocket more septims than you already do now,'

'Watch your tongue, lizard,' Marcus growled, rising from his seat, 'And even if you were to report my misdeeds to the Empress, who is to vouch for your word? Only yourself, I am certain,'

'The Empress sees and knows all,' a low, bone-chilling rasp whispered from behind him. There, a green Argonian cloaked in Imperial purple was crouched, the telltale shimmer of a fading invisibility field about his body. Pulling a dagger from his belt, he plunged it into the Councilor's neck. With a swift flick of his wrist, the hapless councilor's head was severed from his body, the wound immediately sealing itself from the scorching heat of the enchanted blade.

Having completed his work, the assassin then turned towards the Argonian councilor, and flashed him a brief toothy grin.

'You have nothing to fear, marsh-friend. The Empress rewards loyalty, and you have done nothing to wrong her. I am glad that you have provided me the means to make certain of this cretin's guilt,'

The inquisitor vanished again, having cast another invisibility spell. Holds-His-Breath sighed in relief, having been absolved of any wrong-doing by the Inquisitor. Those enforcers were everywhere; in your home, out of your home. In the offices, and out of the offices. Possibly even in your dreams, if tavern scuttlebutt was to be believed. And he had no mind to test any of those theories any time soon.

And there were more reasons for not testing any of them. Before him, on the table, was a heavy leather purse filled to the brim with bright, golden septims. With his name on its neck, with the seal of the Imperial crown upon its side.

Loyalty had its benefits.

* * *

_Imperial City, Tiber Septim Hotel, 5E 1492. Fourth day of Sun's Height, 2100 hours, Nirnian Standard Time._

The Tiber Septim hotel had come a long way from its roots as a luxury hotel in the late Third Era, to a towering structure hosting the thousands of dignitaries that visit the Imperial City every year. Dwarven-steel alloy supports soared skywards, supporting hundreds of broad blue glass panels which protected every luxurious room within – and afforded the visitors a commanding view of Lake Rumare and the rolling green hills and meadows that lay behind. It was, during the day, a breathtaking sight, as though one were looking from Meridia's own perch in the sky.

Numerous councilors and persons of stature from every colony, city and town in Cyrodiil filed into the ballroom on the thirty-second floor of the Tiber Septim Hotel. Each wore suits and dresses in brilliant shades of colour, with every lady wearing a single red flower in her dress, and every man with a red ribbon pinned upon his breast. Notably, no Altmer were present in the gathering, for to them the day was a day of greatest shame to their once proud race.

It was, after all, the anniversary of the Siege of Alinor, where the might of the Aldmeri Dominion was crushed for the last time, and the Empire was truly reborn.

'This wine is indeed excellent,' a Breton lady said, taking a glass of finest Surilie Brothers wine from a waiting server, 'It is a shame that the Empress was unable to attend this event. She and I have much to converse about,'

Her friend gasped in shock. 'You know the Empress personally?' she asked, 'I didn't think she even _had_ any close friends. You must tell me more. I heard she had landed herself a swashbuckling legate as a fiancee. Is it true?'

'Not that I know of,' a Nord elder grunted, 'Arch-mage Asgeir Frostcaller, at your service. I must humbly request that you cease your idle gossip about our good lady. After all, you must know that she spends most of her time studying magicks and planning for the well-being of our fellow citizens. She simply does not have the time to seek a husband,'

He gazed outside, noting the reflection of Masser on the still black surface of Lake Rumare. It seemed like it had been too long since Sophrosyne, or formally Valeria Septim I, had declared him the successor of the previous Arch-mage, in this very room. He had been tasked with educating the masses with elven-script and spell, and to further the development of magickal knowledge. On one side, he would have liked to think he had an impact upon the lives of the lessers, granting them spellcraft enough to ease their burdens of day-to-day toil. On the other hand, there are still a great many in the outer regions whose peoples had never been touched by the guiding hand of the Empire. Something that he hoped would change, given time.

'Asgeir. I had heard many things about you,' the Breton woman spoke, shaking his hand, 'It's not every day that someone meets the famous leader of the Mages' Guild,'

'Yes, yes indeed. My presence here had been requested by our good lady herself, to speak on her behalf. There was an address she wished to deliver, but alas, could not due to the...unpleasantness, in the previous few weeks,'

A silence fell over the three guests. The Mages' Guild scrying teams had arrived on Ardour's Gate within a week of the initial attack. Their footage, and that recovered from the ruined city, had been broadcasted to the numerous receiving crystal spheres around the Empire and its colonies, had shocked the citizens to a standstill for an hour on that day.

The volcanic world's environmental shields were destroyed in the initial bombardment, reducing the coverage of the protective shields to the edge of the city walls itself, where the enchantments were permanent and required no further power. The harrowing footage from outlying mining outposts showed the citizens in their dying moments, choking upon the ash-storms that plagued the planet. Those that did not choke were eventually frozen alive, as the biting cold of the planet, perhaps even colder than Skyrim itself, penetrated even the deepest bunkers and tunnels outside the city.

Perhaps the most telling moment of the recordings were those of the invading aliens. The four-eyed creatures, loading subdued citizens and guards onto their ships, and slashing the throats of those too wounded to heal quickly. There was an uproar among the plebeians of each colony, a collective fury among those with any family member present upon the fallen colony. Every one of the councilors recalled the sound of thousands of feet in their respective holdings, crowds of men and women demanding entry into the Legion to be allowed a chance at vengeance, or for the recovery of those loved ones who had been abducted.

'Perhaps,' the Arch-mage started, 'This was a poor topic for myself to have spoken of. My apologies. There is still much time left in the night; enjoy yourselves, good madams. It is, after all, a night of celebration!'

* * *

_Imperial City, Waterfront District, 5E 1492. Fourth day of Sun's Height, 2300 hours Nirnian Standard Time._

The revelry had been wild among the plebeian populations of the Imperial city. Hundreds of seats had been placed in whatever vantage points were available, in anticipation of the midnight fireworks prepared by none other than the Arcane University.

Those that were still sober enough to stand were singing drunken ballads around braziers, while those that had drunk far more than their stomachs allowed lay down against the walls of the small apartments lining the edges of the waterfront. Pickpockets roamed the crowd, gleefully filching coins from the numerous revelers too busy to check their pockets. Unable, or unwilling to give chase to the thieves without stepping on the multitude of those unable to stomach their drinks, the guards simply turned a blind eye to their actions, merely enjoying the sight of hundreds of happy townsfolk gathered before them.

Or more, in the case of one Khajiit guard who had his eye on an steaming orgy in the poorly-lit rear of the crowd. At least they were enjoying themselves; life was far too short otherwise.

'Lucius, could you get this one a drink?' a Khajiit guard said to his companion, 'Only one will not affect this one's judgment,'

'Eh, I suppose one couldn't hurt. Truth be told, I had one myself. I'll grab one on the way back, the call of nature beckons to me,'

An Orc snorted from behind the two of them, causing them to jump slightly, 'You know, you two, sometimes I worry about why I haven't suspended both of you from active duty. But I suppose I'll let it slide for today. Go on, get wasted. I'll keep an eye out on this rabble here. Not like they can do any harm while that drunk anyhow. Oh, and try not to mention it to your friends. I don't want to have to fill out paperwork if I end up strangling either one of you,'

Grinning, the two guards saluted their captain and left, sampling every ale on their side of the Imperial city. Who were they to not take advantage of the Imperial governor's generosity? All the ales and wines were free, after all, at least for this night.

Midnight arrived quickly, and the fireworks lit up the midnight sky in brilliant rosettes of ruby and emerald, sparkling wheels of gold and shimmering spheres of sapphire. Each blast was followed by a raucous cheer from the gathered crowd, who were wildly waving their sloshing tankards about. And in the middle of the gathering were two guards, laughing as they downed their last mug of Nordic mead. Not a single care in the world as the cold drink splashed all over the front of their helmets.

Morning arrived, and soon the guards found themselves with the unenviable task of cleaning up after the party. Prodding awake those who had passed out in the streets, and throwing thin blankets over those whose modesty had apparently left them with their wits after a stiff drink. At least several mages had volunteered to help the guards, incinerating puddles of half-digested meals and trampled food with streams of flame, while leading cratefuls of conjured blankets on levitating sleds.

'You know, J'Gasta, maybe drinking wasn't the best idea,' Lucius groaned, cradling his temples, 'I feel like I've been punched by an Orc in the face,'

'This one believes that if Lucius does not keep working, Lucius might get a real punch to the face by an Orc,' the Khajiit growled, eyeing their frowning captain, 'This one needs another blanket. Another pair whose clothes have left them for parts unknown, here,'

'You know, I wonder – why do we get this terrible headache after a night of drinking?' Lucius asked J'Gasta, throwing him a blanket from a pile in the magically-suspended crate before him, 'I mean, your sister is an expert in alchemy, isn't she? Couldn't she make something to stop it?'

The Khajiit replied glumly, 'This one's sister made such a thing. But this one drank all his money in one night after taking it. This one's sister refused to make any more after this one had to borrow her pay for food until the next pay day,'

* * *

_Anvil, Voidport Beht, 5E 1492. Fifth day of Sun's Height, 0915 hours, Nirnian Standard Time._

'Seventeen thousand hundredweights of grain...four short tons of butter...' a Redguard scribe mumbled, writing upon his recording scroll, 'Twenty thousand barrels of pure, fresh water...and...wait, who requisitioned five hundred barrels of beer? I suppose it does not matter, they can enjoy themselves. It's not like they can do anything else in the Void after all. A thousand pounds of dried, smoked beef...'

He continued to walk down the warehouse's central aisle, noting the quantities of supplies that the Navy's admiralty had requisitioned. Anvil's voidport was among the largest upon Nirn, and one of the only ones capable of resupplying vast battleships such as the _Shield of Stendarr _currently docked inside its second largest bay. Three other mile-long bays were present on the other sides of the star-shaped jet-black station, refuelling and refitting larger civilian vessels. Smaller, more numerous bays yet filled the lower reaches of the floating port, allowing the smallest freighters to obtain and unload their goods.

Walking near the railings on the edge of the shipyard, he could not help but feel a dreadful fear of great heights. The port itself was suspended by powerful levitation enchantments, a mile above the city of Anvil. One would assume that safety would be paramount in the minds of those dock-workers loading the cargo bays of the void-ships; but an incident involving a cabbage and great heights had left him no choice but to request a protective shield to be erected by mages. It had been extremely difficult to explain to the healers on the ground about how a cracked skull could have been caused by a single cabbage. To this day, he wasn't even sure that the healers believed him.

'It's a glorious sight, isn't it, my ship. Cost the Empire many a pretty septim. Worth every single one, too,'

'Admiral Thorvald Iron-Breaker?' the Redguard said, snapping to attention.

'Yes, yes, Admiral it is. How long will it be until all of these crates are loaded into my ship? I believe my men are starting to become restless, being grounded on this floating rock and all,'

'I think we can get it done in three days, sir,'

'Make it two days,' the Admiral said gruffly, 'My men are becoming restless, and I, for one, do not appreciate having to squander naval funds to repair broken property,'

The image of his office being rolled over by dozens of rough, drunken sailors did not appeal to the scribe. Shivering in revulsion, he nodded to the admiral.

'Two days it is,'

'Good. I will now rest my weary legs upon good old Nirn. A ship may be a sailor's house and heart, but Anvil is my true home. Carry on, scribe,'

The levitation column was a long, thin column of soul conductor, enchanted by a cabal of specialist mages from the Guild. Surrounding it was a shell of cold black marble, matching that of the voidport's superstructure, lined by rings of gold along its height. As the Admiral walked closer to the levitation column, he felt a distinct sense of weightlessness, before leaping off the platform on the column's edge.

No matter how many times the Admiral had used those damned levitation columns, he never truly understood what sort of madman would have preferred this over teleportation. Ascending the column felt like a great bird had swept one off their feet, and carried them swiftly and roughly to the top; descending the column had always felt like one were sinking in an endless ocean of thick, slimy tar.

It was not a method of travel for the faint-of-heart either, for everything that stands between one and an agonising death a mile below were the enchantments that the mages had assured its users were safe and stable. The first time the admiral had tried it as an auxiliary, he had emptied his bladder in fear – though it would be safe to say any who mentioned that would certainly receive months of latrine duty.

However, truth be told, it was not a social visit that the Admiral was on. Though he would have dearly loved to stay for a week or two with his wife, there were more pressing matters at hand. Supplies were one part of the problem of rebuilding colonies. The other was the acquisition of manpower. And where manpower was to be acquired, one must be present to sort the wheat from the chaff, so that all soldiers and enlisted craftsmen were the finest and brightest the Empire had to offer.

As he landed on the ground floor of the levitation column, there were several men already waiting for him, their crossbows propped against their shoulders as they saluted together as one. The leader, a tall, white-bearded Nord, bore a crimson-crested helmet in addition to the silver armour they all wore. He bowed to the Admiral as he presented a scroll to him.

'I hope that this report pleases you, Admiral,' he grunted, 'Far too many citizens have passed through the barracks as of late. Perhaps centuries of peaceful farming and prosperity among the plebs have made them keen for any excitement, even if it is somewhere in the Void,'

'I certainly hope so, Praefect. The 16th legion is in need of reinforcements. I assume that the volunteers you have chosen are assembled in the Anvil Proving Grounds?'

'That is correct, Admiral. Her Imperial Majesty has instructed myself and a guard contingent to escort you to the proving grounds. Please, follow us,'

Anvil had grown throughout the centuries to become a sprawling urban metropolis, ringed with a belt of golden grain fields and lush green meadows. It had been inspiring to see from above, where every housing complex rose skywards like needles of white and gold, a proof of the Empire's prosperity. But to see it up close was another matter. Though no citizens were ostentatiously wealthy as in the Empire's ancient past, they were all comfortably clothed, housed and fed. Streets remained clean of garbage as Dwarven sweeping automata dutifully patrolled up and down every alley and path, removing every minuscule piece of debris. To one side, the Admiral could see a bustling marketplace, every felt-roofed stall brimming with produce and wares. Khajiit merchants haggled with irate Imperial housewives, while a surly Orc silversmith handed an ornate gilt silver plate to a waiting Breton noblewoman.

What was notably absent, however, was Anvil's castle. Gone was the proud drystone fort, replaced by a relatively modest villa sequestered in a secluded corner of the city. Though its gardens were immaculately maintained, the army of servants that once waited on the Count and Countess of Anvil were reduced to a mere handful. A twinge of regret filled him; there was much history within those walls, which he would have loved to observe for himself. But there was no progress without sacrifice, and the nobility's privileges had long made them complacent and weak.

At last, the group had arrived at the Anvil Proving Grounds. Its white limestone exterior imitated the Imperial City Arena, though the Legion dragons carved into each archway's keystone marked it as a building for anything other than bloody entertainment. Outside, a group of recruit auxiliaries tended to their newly-assigned assault crossbows, others sharpening their blades in preparation for combat. Yet more civilians queued behind several desks at which Legion recruiters stood, each scrawling down his or her name in the hopes of acquiring a placement in the Legion.

Inside the building, the Admiral was greeted with the ever-familiar scent of sweat and blood. Recruits and auxiliaries sparred against one another, wielding various blunt and bladed implements of war. Would-be archers steadied their hand, letting their assault crossbows rain torrents of bolts upon illusionary targets, all while Imperial scribes noted their prowess – or lack thereof.

Scanning the scroll that had been provided to him, the Admiral took a deep breath. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

_Batarian Space, unknown location. 0400 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'Watashi wa Goto Kasumi desu,' Kasumi spoke, very slowly, pointing towards herself. She had deactivated her omni-tool's translator to stop it from regurgitating words from every known language in the galaxy.

She had bribed a tiny Batarian freighter into taking her and her new 'slave' to the edge of Batarian space, where another smuggler craft would take her into Alliance space – and from there, to one of her numerous hideouts scattered throughout Citadel space. She wasn't sure if the cat-like creature understood; hours of silence on the cat's part didn't exactly help communication. Her purchase also included all the gear that came with the cat, but there was no Omni-tool to be found on her person or among her belongings. Nor was there any analogue of a translation device to be found.

Tilting her head to one side as comprehension dawned on the cat, she pointed a finger at herself and hoarsely growled, 'S'Tharra,'

'Well, at least that's one thing covered,' she sighed, reactivating the translator.

She slid a box of salmon sushi to the cat. Hopefully, if they were anything like the simple household variety, they would respond well to fish. The cat sniffed the food cautiously, raising an eyebrow at her as she pointed to the food, and then to herself. Kasumi nodded, and the cat took a single round roll. First nibbling it cautiously, and then devouring it whole, and then ravenously downing another in a single bite. However, on the fourth one she had stopped, and held out the box to Kasumi, making a motion as though she were eating, and then pointing at her. Smiling, Kasumi took the remaining sushi and ate it. Hopefully that had been enough to get the cat's trust.

S'Tharra purred appreciatively, but then resumed her staring at a pale, shorter band of fur on her left hand. Kasumi watched the sadness and grief in her eyes, knowing that it would not go quickly. The cat's reaction to the man's gruesome death at the hands of the Batarian slaver had been quite telling; the man must have been her previous master. But the way she stroked the band of pale fur longingly, as though she longed for something that was no longer there...

Pity struck Kasumi as she realised what that man had been to the cat. Slowly she crawled towards the sitting cat, and embraced her in a gentle hug. The cat, taken aback, hesitantly returned the gesture, though she was still faintly sobbing.

'I'm sorry for your loss,' she whispered; S'Tharra let out a soft whimper in reply, 'But you're okay, at least. Here's your stuff. I switched the box with one filled with junk when the guards weren't looking,'

S'Tharra quieted a little when Kasumi passed the small crate to her. Inside was her weapon, a viciously-curved long dagger of ebony, with numerous cruel serrations along its edge. Glowing red runes about its edge marked it as a weapon touched by fire magic, and the gilt draconic emblem upon its hilt and sheath revealed her rank as a guard captain in the employ of the Empire.

Alas, the other pieces of her armour were destroyed when the four-eyed aliens had thrown a glowing grenade at her, which exploded in thousands of superheated shards of metal. Her outdated dwarf-steel alloy cuirass had finally given in to the damage, its shredded frontal plate all but useless. Her thick alchemically-treated leather leggings and arming coat had not fared much better, but the fact that not a single flechette had so much as scratched her skin bore testament to the quality of Dwemeri work.

'I don't know if you'd want to see this, but...if you want a mirror, there's one at the bottom of the box,'

And then she saw it. The Imperial officer's helmet that had served her so faithfully over the years had finally failed her when she needed it most. Though her ears had been disfigured by the slavers' torture, and most of her teeth missing, her face was covered in numerous welts and scars, wherever her light brown fur had refused to heal. One had torn a deep slash over the light brown fur of her nose, running between her eyes and across the top of her snout. Gripping her dagger more tightly, she looked away from the mirror, livid.

There were voices coming from the corridor just outside the cargo hold. Kasumi appeared to have heard too, and had activated her infiltrator's cloak; S'Tharra picked a dark corner of the hold, in between two large crates.

'I can't believe they trusted we'd take them to the humans. There's a bounty on the girl, you see? Six million credits, if she's alive. Four million if she's dead,'

Three Batarian mercenaries entered the hold, each carrying a small, compact submachine gun. The paint on the sides of those battered weapons were so chipped away that Kasumi could barely make out the _M-4 Shuriken _emblazoned on the side of the one closest to her. Though these mercenaries would probably not last long in a fight, she was a thief, not a murderer.

'And here I thought they would be smarter than to try _that_,' Kasumi mouthed to S'Tharra, pointing towards the door, 'Let's go, lock them in here before they notice we're gone,'

But the Khajiit had a different idea. Quietly allowing them to spread out to different corners of the cargo hold, she drew her dagger, intently focusing on the one heading to a corner opposite hers. Approaching ever so silently, she seized the man's jaw with one hand and slit his throat with the dagger in her other; the fire enchantment flaring to life and cauterising the wound instantly. Letting the dead body drop, she noticed a shadow from behind the box to her left.

That Batarian joined his fellow too in death, a dagger driven into his spine from behind. The last mercenary, however, had spotted her. Bursts of slugs peppered the floor and the walls behind S'Tharra, and one finally found its mark in her shoulder.

A blood rage filled her as grief surged forth again to the front of her mind. Summoning up a protective shield as the Legion sergeants had drilled into her mind, she sprinted forward as every slug impacted into her wavering barrier. Adrenaline dulled the burning agony in her head that came from the use of magicka beyond her usual limits. Giving one last snarl of pain as her barrier finally collapsed and another bullet glanced against her neck, she slashed the man's hand asunder, forcing him to drop the gun.

Kasumi could only watch in horror as the cat pounced on the hapless, screaming mercenary, like a varren set upon a crippled pyjak. Her dagger, apparently capable of potent incendiary effects, came down again and again on the man's chest. The crude hardsuit that he wore had offered no protection whatsoever against that blade, the serrated edge tearing holes again and again into the thin material. When the screaming had died down to silence, the air was thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh and plastics.

'S'Tharra?' Kasumi asked uncertainly. The cat had not moved from the dead corpse, still thrusting her dagger repeatedly into its chest in between her sobs.

* * *

_Citadel, Zakera Ward. 1545 hours Citadel Standard Time._

'This just in, from the Alliance News Network,' a deep male voice announced from a Turian's Omni-tool, 'A Batarian freighter ship had been found drifting in space in Alliance space. When the ship did not comply with calls to identify itself, Alliance soldiers were deployed to board the craft and detain its occupants. Instead, they have found no living crew members inside. Three Batarian males were found dead in the cargo hold. One was so badly mutilated that an Alliance soldier, who wished to remain anonymous, described it as 'a shredded, minced body, burned with a flamethrower and minced again','

A passing human soldier who had heard the last sentence listened in, sitting next to the Turian C-Sec officer on the same bench.

'Each of the three crewmembers were armed at the time, and there appears to be no hull breach. All evidence points to a mutiny, but questions are raised about why the vessel was found adrift so far away from Batarian space. The Alliance denies involvement, maintaining that Alliance military personnel are given only Omni-blades as their close-combat weapons and would not have been capable of producing so many wounds before running out of energy or Omni-gel. Batarian Hegemony accuses the Alliance military of an unprovoked attack on a civilian craft, a charge the Systems Alliance vehemently denies. Ambassador Udina is unavailable for comment,'

'Sounds like a smuggling operation gone wrong to me,' the Turian said, shrugging, 'Nothing new here,'

The human's Omni-tool began to beep rapidly as an urgent message entered his extranet email box. After a quick glance, he switched his Omni-tool off, frowning.

'That's my shore leave cut short. Damn four-eyes. Trust them to start something,'

'Admiral,'

'Your Majesty. We have just received your message regarding this...Batarian Hegemony. Are you certain it is wise to approach them, milady?'

Valeria Septim I turned to the admiral that had spoken, surveying him with her blood-red gaze. Finding more than a little fear – but no hint of subversion – she relaxed. Her inquisitors had reported various disturbances throughout the Empire after the Unity Day celebrations. Some were trivial, such as groups of rowdy, drunken plebs destroying taverns in their wake. Others, were more disturbing. A political governor – Quaestor Maximillius Urbanus – had been dispatched by one of her inquisitors over a charge of high treason; the agent having deemed it more prudent to immediately terminate him before he could poison more of his colleagues. There would have to be much to ask this inquisitor, when she returned to the Imperial City.

'Admiral Lucianus Servilius. For the moment, I would like to move the 16th and the 21st fleets towards the Tuning-Gate, as we have discussed prior to this. We will still seek vengeance for our fallen brothers and sisters, of that there will be no doubt. I have, however, acquired...knowledge...from those that we have captured,'

She looked outside the bridge's main viewport. There were dozens of Imperial cruisers, and hundreds of smaller frigates. Two dreadnoughts drifted lazily in space, awaiting orders. And the largest of them all sat proudly at the head of the assembled fleet. All were covered in jet-black magickally-reinforced ebony plates, the dull red glow of their Aetherdrive engines like Dremora eyes in the darkness of the void.

'There exists another Empire in the Void. One of an alliance of races, powerful and glorious,' she spoke, her hands behind her back, 'I have deemed it a possibility that they may be friendly, or at the very least indifferent. It matters not; we have no quarrel with them, and it is with certainty that they would feel likewise, for our paths have not crossed. Tell me, Lucianus,' she said, looking at the Imperial emblem upon his breast, 'Why do you follow me?'

He bowed, looking square into her eyes.

'You are my Empress, and I, a loyal servant of the Empire,'

'I suppose that is what the Imperial academy would have drilled into your minds. To serve the Empire to your deaths; to glory in the defeat of our enemies, and to support your brothers and sisters in arms to the death. But know this; I need no drones of men. If I must have such mindless beasts, I would have long ordered the Dwemeri to craft for myself an army of their automata. So I ask you again, Lucianus; why do you follow me?'

The admiral took a deep breath, before answering. 'Permission to speak freely, Your Majesty?'

She nodded, to which he responded, 'You _are _the Empire, milady. I was a plebeian in the town of Anvil in my childhood. And yet, here I am; an Imperial Admiral, of all posts, with decorations rivaling that of the most privileged patricians. Were you an aristocrat of stony heart and cold-fisted greed, I would have been kept as a mere void-sailor. But you have elevated me to this post. Whatever fears I have had about the cruelty of vampires, and the greed of the rulers, have been cast aside long ago. My sword is at your disposal, for now, and forever,'

She smiled, bowing her head slowly.

'Your words please me greatly, admiral. May you serve with distinction in the years to come. When, perhaps, these sorry times have ended, perhaps we could share a drink in the Imperial Palace. But for now, I feel a great sorrow; wars are fought with blood and sweat, and I fear that I would cast many Nirnian lives away for naught,'

'The 21st fleet is at your service, Your Majesty. For glory and honour, we will follow – even to the bowels of the Deadlands,'

She peered into his eyes, finding the doubts and fears cast aside, replaced by determination.

He was ready. The fleets were ready. She was ready.

'All fleets, converge on the Tuning-Gate,'

/- CODEX ENTRIES -/

/- Codex: Levitation Column -/

The logical extension of a Feather alteration spell, a levitation column utilises a shaft of charged soul conductor with levitation spells cast upon every square inch of its surface. Relying on a feedback loop to sustain its energy, each levitation column must be surrounded by an outer conductive shell with a modified Burden spell cast upon it, so that levitation energies are counteracted and all unused energies returned to the soul conductor.

Levitation columns produce an upward force upon anything, including inanimate objects, between its source soul conductor and its bounding shell. The closer one is to the soul conductor, the faster one is propelled upwards; the reverse is also true for those descending to ground level. These columns must be periodically be charged by trained Alteration mages, typically from the Imperial Office of Commerce and Transport.

Some levitation columns constructed by Akaviri mages have begun to experiment with shock-charged soul conductors with Element Zero cores, with promising results. While these are still far too unpredictable and forceful for safe transportation of creatures, they are useful for quickly transferring solid, heavy objects quickly, such as ores and ingots. It is known that these Akaviri mages are lobbying to have the Empress' approval to upgrade every void-port with the new levitation columns (and in the process, obtain an Imperial charter for the rights of 'sole distribution, maintenance and construction' of the new columns).

/- Codex : Voidport -/

The Nirnian equivalent of a spaceport, these structures are held suspended above ground in the same manner as levitation columns, although the power source is typically crafted out of heart stones instead of soul gems, thereby removing the necessity of recharging the power sources. There are nine voidports upon Tamriel, plus an additional three each in Atmora and Akavir.

Voidports are utilised by both civilian and military vessels to unload and load goods, to refit ships and to resupply and repair. Anvil's Voidport Beht is the largest voidport upon Tamriel, and the only voidport in the Empire that possesses multiple dreadnought-sized dry docks.

/- Codex : Dwarf-Steel Alloy -/

As Ebony and Glass are still relatively costly, city guards who expect only petty criminals to resist are issued with Dwarf-Steel Alloy. This laminated mixture of dwarven metal and common steel allows for greater strength than either metal on its own, though it still remains rather heavy. It is far cheaper to produce than Ebony-Glass alloy, in the order of one-fourth the cost. Being mass-produced in the reborn cities of Morrowind, Dwarf-Steel is the premier construction material of skyscrapers and underground tunnel supports where cost matters.

/- Codex : Assault Crossbow -/

Assault crossbows are a relatively new invention created after the discovery of Element Zero. While automatically reloading crossbows have been known and used since 5E 215, the mass of bolts meant that a constant power supply is required to fire the weapon; so much so that it was practical only to have the weapon mounted upon vehicles and charged by a mage while an archer aimed and fired.

While mages have experimented with field-type weight reduction spells to reduce bolt weight and thus increase rate of fire or power source longevity, it was found that the majority of soldiers could not cast Feather spells reliably in the heat of battle in order to ensure their bolts remained nearly weightless.

The discovery of Element Zero, and its weight-reducing properties when charged by shock spells, meant that common soldiers could finally use a man-portable assault crossbow. A soul conductor rod is integrated into the crossbow's stock in a cylinder filled with Element Zero, projecting a field of weightlessness on the crossbow's tiller, thereby causing any bolts loaded to be nearly weightless. This meant that thin, extremely light strings could be used to launch bolts at an unprecedented rate of fire, at around three hundred bolts a minute, with adjustable power between an anti-materiel scorpions and a dart thrown by hand (with corresponding losses or gains in rate of fire and recoil). What was more was that the power source used for pulling the now-light string back would last for much longer before having to be recharged.

A/N

So, there it is. Chapter 4. There's not much I feel I need to write in these notes. I will attempt to do regular weekly updates, but it really depends on my workload.

Lodge your reviews if you feel something needs to be fixed, or if I've made some errors. I'm doing this without a beta-reader at the moment, and removing as many errors as humanly possible.

Inverness

While it is true that races are likely not going to open a new relay that they do not know where it leads, I believe that somewhere in the Codex entries of Mass Effect 2 that Council races are disallowed from opening mass relays whose receiving twin had not been discovered yet.

There are also primary and secondary relays; primary relays moving ships thousands of light years, while secondary relays go for tens or hundreds of light years. If a secondary relay is found, it is plausible that its operating twin can be found by normal FTL travel (albeit slowly). Slavers would also not gather an assault fleet without knowing what's on the other side, as it would not guarantee any financial return; it was a premeditated attack.

The Rosetta relay that I've added in is a secondary relay, leading to an unidentified system near that system. From there, the Nirn relay is an (unknowingly activated) primary relay between this unidentified system and Nirn's system. I really should have covered that in a Codex article about how the Nirnian Empire is laid out, but that might be for a future chapter.

aDarkOne:

You would be correct that someone who could happily eat souls can be described as just. Everything in reality varies according to our viewpoint; we could see the execution of criminals as immoral, or we could see it as justice being dealt. In this case, the Empress genuinely believes that by consuming only the souls of the evil, she is performing the world a duty and a benefit. While naturally there would be Imperial scholars who would think otherwise, I don't think anyone is in a hurry to commit treason by writing otherwise in official records. After all, there would always be some power-hungry vulture that's trying to curry favour with the ruling power, like in any autocracy. If the death of a scribe means that he'll get ahead, he'll do it.

Hkblarg

Mass crucifixion of Batarians, while it would be great at placating the hordes of plebs whose relatives have been taken, would likely not fare very well with forging an alliance with the Council (if and when it does happen). If the Krogan received a lot of flak over firing nuclear weapons resulting in the destruction of their own planet, I can't imagine that the Empire's reception would be much warmer if the Empire was found performing what would be probably considered more brutal, against another species.

Don't get me wrong xD I'm not against crucifixion of Batarians. Crucifixion in its day was intended as a powerful deterrent against would-be criminals. But it can cause the opposite effect and instil disgust in potential allies, as well as fervour in insurgents. We'll just have to see how this progresses first.

ArcturusWolf, signing out.


	5. 05 - Dawn of War

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Lorek Orbit, 0820 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'So this is what a Batarian planet looks like,' Valeria said slowly, gazing at the planet before her.

The surface appeared to be covered in ice and water, with turbulent clouds swirling from its sun-scorched side to the frigid dark half. A smattering of green islands could be seen, dotted with settlements small and large. Small as it was, a probe-ship that she had ordered onto the planet reported significant deposits of metals present, as well as a ring of habitable conditions sandwiched between its blazingly hot pole and its frigid distant pole. To the Empress, it would have been unbearably warm, having spent most of her time in Skyrim; but to the rest of the Khajiiti and the Argonians, it would have been similar in heat and dampness as the Tenmar Forest or the Black Marsh.

A worthy weregild for the widows of some of those enslaved, and a worthy retribution for the destruction of one of the Empire's own mining colonies. She smiled grimly.

'Admiral Servilius. Notify the fleet's scrying seers to search for every voidport upon this planet. Also notify the other captains and admirals to bring their soldiers to the assembly deck upon each void-ship. Transport ships must be ready to deploy within the hour,'

'Your will be done, Your Majesty,' spoke the Admiral, bowing to her.

Within ten minutes, the entire strength of the combined fleet and army stood had gathered for the address by the Empress. One hundred thousand well-drilled soldiers from five legions, standing motionlessly at attention, listening intently to the broadcasting orbs from their respective transport ships. Thirty thousand more Navy personnel were still at their posts, ensuring the readiness of the vessels for the coming combat.

'Thank you, Admiral. I believe the time has come for me to deliver the customary address to the men,' Valeria sighed, 'I despise delivering speeches. Why must men be forever reliant on others to convince them to do what is right, to bolster their courage? Their skills alone should be sufficient, if they had not been found wanting in the proving grounds. Alas, I digress,'

She cleared her throat, and turned to the enormous glowing sphere of crystal that was to broadcast her message to every ship in the fleet.

'Brave men, women; soldiers of the Legion, and sailors of the Imperial Navy,' she started to speak, 'Barely two weeks ago, the Imperial colony of Ardour's Gate had fallen silent. A prosperous, if small, colony; constructed with great difficulty and effort by your brothers and sisters, both of the Imperial Legions and the civillians. And yet, despite the valiant efforts of the five thousand guardsmen of the colony, the colony fell to the depredations of these cowardly aliens that call themselves Batarians,'

'They believed that we would be meek; that we would surrender without giving battle, without fighting for what is rightfully ours. They believed that we would submit to the servitude that their overlords would impose upon us. They believed that the fifty thousand prisoners that they had taken to be their slaves would never cry for help, that they would never demand vengeance from those of us still present, and those departed who remain with us as the spirits of our void-ships. But I have heard their prayers for salvation, their cries of anguish, and felt the tears of their pain,'

'Is there, then, none among you that will raise a shield in their defence, to bring a sword to smite their enemies? To strike the chains of servitude from their wrists, so that they would once again taste freedom? If there are any of you who would not do so, speak now or forever hold your peace!'

'I assume then, that your combined silence is a sign of your devotion to your brethren? I applaud you, brave soldiers of the Empire. As we have struck down the blight of the Dark Brotherhood from Nirn, and cast down the wretched corruption of the Thieves Guild, so too shall we eradicate this Batarian plague from the stars. With your strength of arms, and iron-clad will, we shall purge the Batarian rats from whichever hole they had emerged from!'

Looking to the Admiral, she held up a hand, and clenched it in a fist. He shuddered, knowing what that signal meant.

'You will give them no quarter, no mercy, as they have shown none towards your brethren. Every last of their men to be destroyed by fire and sword. To this end, I have issued your captains and sergeants with fleet beacons,'

Murmurs spread throughout the assembled army troops in disbelief, as their officers struck the floor with their weapons in a reminder that they were not to question the Empress' will. A fleet beacon was a sign of absolute firepower, a marker to the fleets assembled above that they were free to bombard the area until the soil itself was turned into molten slag. The only times that the Legion was ever issued with them was during the Frostreach Rebellion, and even then the Legion had only been given four beacons to mark especially valuable targets.

'Scour every house, every building, for your brethren. If none are found, then your squadron may use their beacon to raze these buildings to the ground. There will be no songs of victory sung by the Batarians tonight, only the funeral dirges for their dead. May Stendarr guide your hand, so that it may strike these beasts down with overwhelming might! For the Empire!'

A cheer rose among some of the troops, though the more experienced among them had a grim smile. The Empress' orders were clear, and the streets below would run red with blood.

Turning to the Admiral, the Empress nodded.

'All fleets, fire upon their void-ports. Shock bolts upon their ships, and flame upon their void-ports. Cruisers, fire frost bolts onto the airspace above their cities. I want those streets frozen solid before our landers begin their descent. Interceptors and frigates, fly into orbit and destroy all craft not inside the Void. Legion troops, obtain your orders from your commanders. Move it!' he barked towards the recording sphere.

'I had read of your willingness to utterly destroy the Empire's enemies in history dataslates, Your Majesty,' he whispered to her, 'But to see it in action...I am not sure what to think,'

She glared at him, causing him to flinch in fear.

'War is a bloody business, Admiral,' she said icily, turning back to face the planet, 'And the enemies that we do not eliminate today will come back to haunt us tomorrow. To doubt, to falter, to question – these are luxuries which we cannot afford. For a lapse in concentration, if only but for a moment, will cause the deaths of those who serve our cause. Now, to your station, Admiral. The ship requires guidance, does it not?'

'Yes, milady,'

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Jalnor, Lorek. 0835 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Dray could not believe his luck.

The one day that he had chosen to land on Jalnor to resupply and rearm his ship, and give his crew some much-needed shore leave, and things had gone to shit in the early hours of the morning.

The city was one of the jewels of the Batarian expansion into the Terminus systems, wrested from the Asari in a daring assault early in their history. The city itself was built upon stilts, some reaching high into the sky. Dozens of anti-orbital cannons were placed around the city, upon squat reinforced platforms low in the sandy ground. If it were not for the constant presence of Batarian military gunships and troops on leave, he would have thought himself in an Asari colony, with its beaches so clean and inviting, and the numerous homes around the beaches as luxurious as any in the Citadel.

He had been awake all of his short stay, unable to sleep with the sweltering heat of the planet, and the broken environmental controls of his room had not assisted with resting either. He had believed the automated alarms and activation of the planetary defence systems was another false alarm caused by an intrepid pirate crew without a working IFF.

However, initial shots from orbit had quickly changed his mind. The enormous incendiary bolts that the unknown ships had fired from far above had melted the anti-orbital guns to scraps of molten steel, and caused the guns' fusion reactors to explode uncontrollably as their fuel spontaneously fused in the intense heat of the blasts. All around him the buildings were set ablaze by the merciless torrent of fire raining from the skies, punctuated by great thunderbolts striking down every Batarian gunship, both in the air and still parked upon the ground.

'All Hegemony military personnel, report for duty immediately, this is not a drill,' he heard the loudspeakers blare, 'All Hegemony military personnel-'

A particularly vicious blast of flame struck the shields of the spaceport near him, forcing him to shield his eyes. He could feel the searing heat of the flame from a hundred metres away, and hear the screaming of those unlucky enough to be caught outside the shields when the blast struck.

Concrete had been melted to glass, and the metal plating of the low walls outside the spaceport's atrium glowed white-hot. A corpse lay near a now-dry fountain, partially turned to ash in an instant. More bolts of energy rained down upon the city, shattering the already-weakened shields as the shield generators on the spaceport exploded in a brilliant display of sparks and flying red-hot metal.

Shards of ice the size of grown men began to rain down upon the streets, as he finally saw the attackers descend into the atmosphere.

Thousands of fighters and hundreds of frigates, all in black metal, launching an unending barrage of fire and lighting from their guns. The gunships that had attempted to take off from the nearby military base were promptly incinerated by concentrated fire from so many ships; Dray dove for cover as three of the fighters sped past, spitting shards of ice at a single Eclipse gunship which had managed to avoid immediate destruction.

'Dray!' a voice shouted through his Omni-tool, distorted by static, 'We got to get out of here, now! Our ship's ready for take-off, just waiting on you! We can't stay here all day, man, get a move on! I'm not paid enough to risk getting blown to pieces!'

'Damn right you aren't paid enough for this. Hegemony could pay me with all the slaves in Khar'shan and I still wouldn't stick around to defend this. Stay there, I'm coming as quickly as I could,'

'No can do, Dray, we got to move. Frigate's on our asses-'

And there was a deafening boom of an explosion as the spaceport went up in flames, its superstructure bending and groaning under the stresses of so many blasts in a short space of time. A beam of energy from orbit lanced through its central support, bisecting the entire structure vertically; he looked up and saw the enormous outline of a dragon-like dreadnought, its main gun cleaving through yet another anti-air turret next to the spaceport.

And what he saw next terrified him to his core. Several burning wrecks descended through the atmosphere, their blocky shapes familiar. The Batarian fleet over Jalnor had been destroyed utterly, the three cruisers and the dozen frigates having hardly slowed the invading fleet.

There was only one thing to do.

Run. Hide.

He sprinted towards the nearest building that had not been levelled in the initial barrage, dodging strafing fire from their fighters. Inside were a half-dozen Batarian soldiers, who desperately tried to fend off their gunships with their outdated Terminator rifles, firing over the wreckage of a skycar and the shopfront.

'You there, merc!' a soldier shouted to him; his shoulder bearing an angry red burn from where a gunship had scored a glancing hit, 'Get a gun and make yourself useful. I heard that you Terminus types were good at killing. Now prove it to me!'

It was a better plan than staying and defending alone, much as he detested the regular army. Diving into cover beside them, he drew his own heavy pistol, firing a number of armor-piercing rounds off towards the gunship. One of the rounds struck the cockpit, cracking the glass slightly. In return, the gunship let loose a volley of ice-shards, two of which pierced the heads of the Batarians either side of him, and a third slashed through another's leg, severing it below the kneecap.

But the gunship was not finished yet. It fired a dart-shaped projectile from a tube on its wings, a pulsing green light emanated from the small silver sphere on its rear. He braced himself for an exposion...yet none came.

The shadow of a frigate loomed overhead instead.

One of its guns pointed straight at his position, and glowing with pent-up energy.

'RUN!' the surviving soldiers yelled, bolting from their makeshift cover as quickly as they could. No sooner had they done so, a broadside from the frigate engulfed the ruined shop in flames. Two of them did not escape the inferno, their legs having been crippled by prior gunfights.

Dray sprinted down a staircase leading into a ruined mall, taking cover behind a fallen statue of a particularly well-dressed Batarian. The remaining trooper followed suit, barely dodging a spear of ice as he jumped over a burning skycar.

'Now what do we do?' Dray hissed towards the remaining soldier, who trembled in fear, 'What's happened to the Hegemony? Haven't they sent any forces yet?'

'They've jammed our comms. I can't even contact the Hegemony base in this city,'

'No shit. They've blown up your damn base by now. Didn't you see what they did to the spaceport? Dreadnought ripped it up in two shots. Just hope your precious army sent reinforcements,'

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Wrath of Talos, Lorek orbit, 0850 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'Defences neutralised. Enemy fleet destroyed. Minimal casualties,' Fortis droned from his pedestal on the ship's bridge, 'Suggest reducing orbital bombardment volume over this city, ground forces and gunships report some casualties from friendly fire. Legion troops landing on capital in one hour. Expecting heavy resistance,'

'Then redouble your efforts. Ensure the guns fire more accurately, even if we do not fire as many bolts. Provide covering fire for the infantry,' the Empress replied coldly. One hundred and sixty of her men had died in the initial minutes of the fighting, shot down by some anti-aircraft guns that the sensor-magi had failed to detect. Automated systems were always difficult to find; she could not blame them for their failures.

The bridge of the _Wrath of Talos _was abuzz with frantic activity. Gunnery captains responded with the hundreds of fleet beacon markers on the ground, marking each one done as they let each magickal bolt loose on their targets. Sensor magi relayed instructions to ground teams below, and commanders barked orders through recording spheres to their ground forces.

Admiral Servilius approached her and bowed, saying 'Your Majesty, the enemy's defences have been annihilated. Your Legion is landing upon the planet as we speak,'

'Excellent, Admiral. You have performed your duty...admirably. But it is not yet time to rest. Instruct the gunnery mages to divert all power to the _Wrath of Talos'_ main cannon. I have a... message to send to the rest of these criminals. Also instruct the Legion that any communications relay is only to be disabled. I wish for every one of those wretched scoundrels to cower in fear as our boots squash their cities and planets underfoot,'

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Corinthe-class Corvette, Lorek low orbit. 0855 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

The interior of any corvette was small, and the _Corinthe-_class corvettes doubly so. Dubbed a 'metal coffin' by his comrades, Auxiliary Marcus Aquilius gulped nervously as he rubbed shoulders with his two legionnaire supervisors either side of him; both large, burly orcs hunched uncomfortably on seats far too small for their frames, and their bulky, heavy armour plating did not help the problem any.

Opposite him, leaning casually against the hardened glass viewport, was his centurion, a lithe and agile Breton, checking her assault crossbow, and charging its eezo-stick with brief pulses of shock. She wore a stripped-down set of ebony plates, the rest in between replaced by an ebony-glass nanoweave undersuit. Beside her were two Imperial battlemages, sporting the latest quick-charge arcanorifles and wearing the lightest in reinforced, enchanted glass.

The Empire paid for the basic gear of recruits, which was very inadequate in the way of protective gear. Dwemer-made leather arming coats underneath magickally-hardened dwarf-steel plate, and very basic dwarf-steel assault crossbows (or chain-swords and chainaxes, if one were so inclined). They were, to the experienced veterans, no more than battlefield liabilities; a point his Centurion only punctuated with her glowering stare.

'How long have you served as a footslogger, Caedwynn?' the Imperial next to her asked, as he finished checking his arcanorifle.

'Honorably discharged, and re-enlisted. My _honesta missio _gave me a piece of land in Black Marsh. Sold it to a Khajiit who wanted to grow his own moonsugar. Came back with this instead, and enough septims to last me a stiff drink every night, and a man-whore to boot every shore leave,'

'Married to a gun. If you were an Orc maiden, I would have taken you up. You're a strong one,' one of the Orcs chuckled, 'Not many could shoulder a Scorpion anti-vehicle arbalest. You sure you're cut out for that, girl?'

'Been nailing heads with them since before you were born. Say, anyone want a wager?'

'What sort of wager?'

She tossed her hair back, and put on her visored helmet, checking that its distance scanner worked as intended. Satisfied, she held up a finger and pointed at each of them.

'I bet all of you that I will kill more of those four-eyed freaks than any of you. If I win, you will owe me three shots of Colovian Brandy each. If I lose, then I will buy you all drinks for the next week. Anyone game for it?'

All of the others looked around nervously, the Orcs laughing nervously. Caedwynn sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. Were they truly that incompetent?

'Alright, I'll sweeten the deal. Slay more of them than I will, and I'll give the winner a...night of relaxation in my quarters. In addition to the other deals, of course. Now do we have a deal?'

The Imperial battlemages nodded in agreement, while the Orcs followed suit half-heartedly. Colovian Brandy was _extremely_ expensive, even on Nirn; they would have to pay half their weekly wage each to pay for the drinks, should they lose.

'I see the new recruit hasn't agreed. I suppose I'll cut him some slack; he doesn't need to pay up, even if he wins. Zenithar knows they aren't paid enough yet for these things. You there, auxiliary! Look alive, we're here to play with those four-eyes. Whether you nail them in all of their eyes, or go home crying to your mother, it matters little to me. Just don't get yourself killed, or I'll be bogged down in paperwork when the legate comes to check on what the hell happened down there,'

The corvette shuddered slightly as a volley of armour-piercing slugs struck its shields. They were now flying low over the city's numerous bridges, the orange-red sun in the distance casting the numerous skyscrapers in a perpetual blood-red sunset. Bolts of flame from low-flying frigates continued to pound the Batarians' entrenched positions, while Nirnian interceptors raced after fleeing Batarian gunships. Every now and then, a distant explosion would punctuate the incessant whine of mass accelerator rounds, and a corvette would come crashing down to the ground.

'I haven't seen fighting like this for a damn long time. The Empire's been at peace for so long, my aim is getting shoddy,' Caedwynn laughed, 'Time to show them who's boss, boys. Ready your weapons, we're touching down in ten seconds,'

'Landing zone is hot, centurion! Just get ready to jump, I can't stick around for too long!' the pilot shouted, dodging a stray missile.

The pilot punched in the unlock codes for the ship's rear doors, which promptly slid open. The soldiers could now see the vicious street-to-street fighting, Batarian noncombatants being shredded by both Legion and Batarian fire. Burnt-out wrecks of skycars littered the streets, providing scant cover for both sides. Legion orbital bombardment, however, was taking its toll on the Batarians, for their bunkers scarcely provided the required thermal dissipation required to withstand anti-naval incendiary shot. Some had cracked open from the intense heat, while others melted into misshapen lumps of metal.

There was a Legion drop zone below them, with several Dwemer _Numidium-_class heavy tanks arranged in a circle with a makeshift command centre in the middle of the protective ring. They were in the centre of a wide boulevard, with close to two hundred metres either way cleared of debris. Beyond that were dozens of wrecked skycars and crashed gunships, with hundreds of Batarians firing from the makeshift barricade.

Aquilius stared in fear at the ground.

The others had jumped out, aside from the centurion.

He couldn't jump out.

Being on the ground was fine.

Being three hundred feet above the ground was not.

'What, you think we're just going to stroll out of this corvette, auxiliary?' the Centurion barked, grabbing his arm, 'The others have jumped out, we're waiting on you. Come on!'

He was pulled out roughly by Caedwynn, screaming in panic as he watched the hard earth draw ever closer to him. The centurion gave an amused chuckle as she cast a standard levitation spell over both of them, coming to a perfect stop on the drop zone. Several veterans looked on in amusement as the auxiliary emptied the contents of his stomach into the ocean on the boulevard's edge, while other centurions shook their heads in disapproval.

'Caedwynn. Didn't expect you to return to service so early,' a Dunmer spoke to her in a rough growl. His crested helmet and gilded pauldrons marked him as a legate. 'This place is a hellhole. I hope you haven't spent too much time up north in Skyrim; this place makes Senchal seem like the Imperial City when it comes to heat and wetness. Make your way to the front lines, you've got your work cut out for you. Kill as many slavers as you can, and protect the soldiers that haven't died. Get a move on, I've got more soldiers to brief,'

She saluted him briefly, and then turned to the rest of her team.

'Listen up. We're heading to the front lines, where the fighting is heaviest. Burz and Amakh will stay at the front. You two pretty boys there better stay at the back and rain fire upon them. I will stay around the middle and make sure this auxiliary lives to fight another day. Stick together, follow the tanks as they move forward. Keep your head down. Let's go,'

To say that the ground fighting was horrific for the new auxiliary would be an understatement. He had been fresh out of the proving grounds; he knew what blood smelled like, and how gruesome chainblade wounds could be. But to see an actual street battle was another matter.

A centurion was hauled back behind the heavy tanks, sporting a large gash that pierced his abdomen and exited through the back. Healers feverishly cast their spells without stopping, relying on their backpacks of magicka-restoring solutions to provide them with the energy needed to close and heal such grievous wounds. Another auxiliary was hauled in, a victim of a grenade, his face shredded by shrapnel until it was barely recognisable.

The sharply-angled armour of the heavy tanks absorbed Batarian fire, the impact of the slugs barely making an impression on the thick metal plates. Aquilius still shuddered at the shrill sound of metal impacting on metal, thinking of what would happen had the tanks not been there to provide cover.

Batarian and Legion melee combatants locked weapons and exchanged blows, the Batarians' makeshift melee weapons not being able to penetrate the Legion's superior armour, while Legion chainswords and chainaxes hacked through flesh and bone with ease, littering the ground with dismembered Batarian corpses and painting concrete with streaks of blood and excrement. Numerous bolts and slugs shot overhead in every which way, piercing friend and foe alike.

'Keep your head down, or you'll be like that guy over there,' the Orc next to him grunted, pointing his thumb at the headless corpse of a Nord, 'Damn snipers are everywhere. Watch yourselves. If you spot one, call for fleet bombardment,'

'Alright, we've got cover. Move, move, move!' the legate barked, waving the newest wave of soldiers forward, 'Stick behind the tanks!'

A column of lighter tanks proceeded from behind the wall of heavy tanks, their tracks shredding the fine concrete road to shreds as they progressed. Creeping along behind the moving tanks, the squad could not help but flinch every time a Batarian artillery shell exploded. The other squads beside them did not fare much better; one unfortunate tank-crew and its following squad of infantry were annihilated by a wayward gunship missile, which pierced the top of the tank and caused it to explode violently, spraying nearby troops with white-hot metal shards.

'Leave them, they're gone. Press on!' Caedwynn shouted, firing a heavy bolt at the offending gunship, cracking its cockpit, 'And keep your wits about your head, auxiliary! You're gaping like a recruit with his first whore,'

Aquilius gritted his teeth and barked a reply, 'Yes, centurion!'

The centurion on the tank in front held up his hand, and the column stopped. He held up a clenched fist, and pointed his other hand forward. There was an obstruction ahead.

'Burz, go and check it out. Keep your shield up,'

He nodded, and crept forward, peering over the edge of his shield. A number of wrecked vehicles lined the edges of the street, and a single pillbox in the middle. His eyes widened as he watched a crew-served machinegun turn to face him; reacting not a moment too soon, he dove behind his shield, planting its bottom spike into the concrete.

A spray of slugs peppered the Orc, glancing off the sloped ebony plates of his armour and his shield. A number of Batarian soldiers were entrenched in a pillbox at a checkpoint ahead, letting loose whatever else they had on hand at the Imperial soldiers in the streets, some finding their mark. A number of auxiliaries in the open fell to the ground, torn to shreds by the barrage of slugs. A rocket sailed out from the pillbox's slit, striking the frontmost tank on its treads. By luck or skill, the rocket had managed to blast the tread links asunder, crippling the vehicle. The other tanks returned fire; however, the thick concrete and steel plating of the pillbox had deflected every single shot they had fired, which burst harmlessly in the air.

'We've got contact!' he shouted, raising his shield retreating behind the crippled tank. Caedwynn took up her Scorpion and launched a single javelin-like bolt, which pierced the pillbox's concrete wall and beyond.

'One enemy confirmed dead,' a battlemage said, his eyes glowing, 'Good shot. Let's take care of these scumbags. Give me some cover, and they're gone,'

'Burz, Amakh, stand in front of him. Lock your shields together. Auxiliary, throw a smoke grenade. You there, poster boy, make yourself useful and tell me where else are these scumbags hiding,'

The Orcs nodded and advanced slowly, grunting as slugs impacted against their thick metal shields and on the road. A sniper round struck Amakh's helmet; the metal held, though he stumbled back a little. Several more struck Burz' shield, one piercing through its edge. They had but thirty feet to the pillbox, and the withering suppressive fire grew ever more intense.

Aquilius' smoke grenade landed as intended, providing a dense cloud of grey, obscuring the three soldiers. Smiling, the battlemage following the Orcs hefted his arcanorifle and conjured a white fire in the palm of his hand.

He charged his arcanorifle with a powerful burst of flame. The muzzle crackling with charge and spitting embers, he pointed the muzzle towards the firing slit on the pillbox. A stream of liquid flame surged out from the rifle's tip, coating everything it struck with searing blue flames, most of it spilling into the pillbox.

Within moments the pillbox filled with pitch-black smoke, and a number of Batarian soldiers crawled out of the burning fortification. One was screaming in agony as the blue flames seared his skin and flesh to the bone, while others were blinded by the dense smoke that flooded the small room inside the concrete building. Their job completed, the soldiers retreated hurriedly to the rest of their squad.

Satisfied, Caedwynn said to the group, 'They'll be dead soon, the rest of the Legion is on the way. Come on, let's go-'

A thunderous explosion rocked the skyscraper in front of the tank column. A stray artillery shell blasted concrete and steel apart in a brilliant shower of sparks and a cloud of acrid dust. Metal creaked ominously as the superstructure started to give way under the intense heat of the incendiary shell.

'That...can't be good,' Aquilius mumbled, stepping backwards, 'Uh...centurion, shouldn't we...try to find cover?'

The Orcs snorted, while the battlemagi shook their heads in disapproval.

'Find cover from what, stray bolts and nuts? Auxiliary, just stand over there in the street, under the building's shadow – you'll be fine. No. Just go around it, and it won't kill you. We keep moving, unlike these tanks behind us,'

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Hegemony Base Alpha, Jalnor, Lorek, 0945 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'Sir!' a Batarian soldier shouted in panic, 'We've lost contact with the communications relay. Your message for reinforcements couldn't be sent,'

Rarely had the Batarian Hegemony been attacked so directly, so swiftly, and so brutally. Their fleet in orbit – a dozen cruisers and twenty frigates – had been decimated in a stealth attack frominitially _invisible_ attackers. They were not visible on sensors, nor were they visible to the naked eye; the only message he had received before the cruiser's demise was a cry of surprise that there were at least two hundred attacking ships already in knife-fighting range, before a deafening blast rocked the bridge of the cruiser and the video feed cut to static. The orbital defences were knocked offline by bursts of what was reported to be directed _lightning_ – he would have executed the private that had reported it, had the video feeds from military checkpoints confirmed the attacks.

General Kalnas drew his sidearm and shot the panicking soldier in the head, killing him instantly. He had enough of cowardice.

'If you are soldiers of the Hegemony, you would not cower in fear. Destroy them! Or _I_ will do so for you, like this fool on the floor. Well? Go!'

He collapsed back into his command chair, waving through the numerous alerts his haptic interface was showing. Every city on the planet had gone dark. The long-distance communicators were knocked offline by the constant barrage of lightning that these enemy ships were raining down upon his bases; even the shield generators were overloaded until they had exploded.

Within the space of an hour he had lost half the garrison of Jalnor, and no doubt the other cities were faring equally badly. Anti-orbital cannons were all destroyed, and the enemy was fast approaching his final line of defence; the garrison fortress within the heart of Jalnor itself. He had commanded his troops to make a stand and hold the line at the gate of the fortress. So far, it had worked; the enemy was incapable of crossing the wide open space between the fortress and the rest of Jalnor without being destroyed by the shielded anti-vehicle cannons spaced throughout the building.

He thought grimly, however, that he could not possibly hold out for much longer. Without a fleet in orbit, and the enemy fleet controlling the airspace completely, it was a matter of time before the enemy simply erased him and his men from existence by bombardment. The enemy didn't have to break their way in.

But if the Hegemony could not hold the world for themselves, they could still deny the enemy the use of this planet. He flipped the keycard in his hand idly. If he were the last person alive in this garrison, then he would override the safety on the fusion plant on the base and redline the reactor. Nobody would win, and he would have done his duty to the Hegemony.

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Jalnor, Lorek, 1005 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'Pitiful auxiliary,' Burz grumbled, lifting the exhausted auxiliary over a collapsed wall, 'This world isn't even heavy on gravity and he's all worn out after a short march. What have they been doing in the proving grounds,'

They had taken a detour around a collapsed building, barely three hundred feet from their destination. Imperial frigates had begun to blast the obstruction clear, but they would not be done for hours yet; an order from the commanding legate had demanded their presence on the front within an hour. Climbing over the crumbling building's foundations, progress was long and arduous. The centurion and the two Orcish veterans were indifferent to such exertion, but the two battlemages and the auxiliary were wheezing after the first thirty minutes, begging for a reduction in their rate of movement.

'Hey, hold up,' one of the battlemages said.

'Not if it's for a rest, legionnaire. As it is, I'm sorely tempted to have you placed on latrine duty,' Caedwynn replied dryly, 'What is it now,'

'I'm detecting life-signs underneath this. Doesn't seem far enough to be a floor underneath ours. A trapped friendly, maybe?'

'Could be. The Empress' orders were to rescue all of the enslaved citizens when possible,' Aquilius offered, 'Why don't we clear it?'

'We're short on time, but the prime directives of this mission still stand. Burz, Amakh, get the rocks cleared. You two, poster boys, stand guard and watch over the heavies. Shoot anything that looks threatening. Auxiliary, watch over the way we came from. Don't let any of the four-eyes catch us off guard,'

'On it, ma'am,' they replied in unison, setting down to work on the rubble.

With the great strength of the Orcs, they had cleared away a substantial portion of the rubble, revealing a bubble of purple energy preventing the rest of the crumbled concrete from falling in and collapsing upon them. Inside was a blue-skinned alien, with what appeared to be leathery tentacles on her head, projecting the bubble. Sweat dripped from her brow as she maintained the barrier.

She screamed something in a foreign language, but the desperation in her voice made her intent clear; all the legionnaires dropped their weapons and helped with removing the rest of the rubble, the mages blasting away the last boulders with well-placed fireballs.

Caedwynn nodded in approval. Two Argonians and a Dunmer, inside the hole with the strange blue alien, 'So we've found three ex-slaves. Good job, soldiers, I'll let the base camp know about what we've found. But what in Oblivion is that thing? Never mind, get them all out of that hole. It looks like they'll be buried again if we don't do it quick,'

She pulled a small crystal sphere, and pressed the button on its top. An image of the Dunmer legate appeared with extreme disapproval on his face.

'You have your orders, soldier. Get to the front – why are you not there yet?'

'The Empress' previous directive still stands, legate. We've discovered three citizens, and one alien presumed friendly. Not a four-eyes; some strange blue alien. She was keeping a shield bubble up to stop them all from being crushed under rubble. Requesting medical evac, immediately,'

'Well, I'll be damned. You actually found someone alive in that collapsed building! It happens that one of our flyer boys are above your position; I'll let them know to pick the noncombatants up. Your mission, however, still stands. Make your way to the forward camp. Find an open spot and put those civillians on it, and leave a green signal flare. Legate Modryn Redoran out,'

'Orders, orders. I sometimes wish I'd have taken up my old legate's offer of promotion,' Caedwynn growled, 'But I like nailing things to walls more. Auxiliary, help me with this blue alien. Burz, Amakh, poster boys, get on the other three. There's that slab of concrete just over the window; put them there and I'll set a green flare down,'

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Wrath of Talos, Lorek orbit, 1045 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Valeria stood before the bridge's main viewport, surveying the fleet movements about the small planet. Every now and then a small streak of flame would mark the demise of a Batarian transport, and occasionally on the surface there would be a tiny speck of dust where a building was completely destroyed. The troops had utilised fleet beacons more liberally than she had expected; a significant portion of the planet's urban area had been reduced to glassy slag by orbital bombardment.

A report flashed on her dataslate, marked with an orange legion officer seal. An urgent matter. Reading it quickly, she smiled.

'So the ground troops have discovered some enslaved citizens,'

'It would seem so, milady,' Servilius replied, reading his own copy of the report, 'And it seems that they have also found a friendly alien with the citizens. They are currently in custody of the 10th legion's field medics,'

'Ensure that they are rewarded for the safe recovery of some of my children. As for the friendly alien, bring her up to the _Wrath of Talos_ as soon as is practicable. Make sure that the troops performing this duty are informed that she is not under any circumstances to be treated as a prisoner,'

Another message flashed on her dataslate, this time with a red seal upon it.

A request for an orbital shot from the _Wrath of Talos_ itself, upon a heavily fortified compound in the heart of Jalnor.

'Remind me to request a written report later from Legate Modryn about why he would require so much destructive power on a single compound. Has the Legion not received enough artillery to perform the task? But for now, we shall oblige his request. Admiral, if you would; order the main gun to be fired upon the coordinates provided by the legate,'

'It will be done in an hour, Your Majesty. The gunnery magi report an overheat building up in the forward section of the main cannon, and cannot discharge the cannon safely at this time,'

'Very well, I suppose there would be nothing to do but wait. Instruct the legate to entrench his position. Also notify him that there are reinforcements inbound. Part of our punitive fleet has been more successful than he, and their sectors have fallen entirely into Imperial hands within a few brief hours of bloody fighting,'

She turned to face the red dwarf star in the distance, sighing.

There was still much to do, and many systems yet to bring order to.

An order to a chaotic galaxy.

An order to all civilisation and all peoples.

/- Codex : _Corinthe-_class Corvette -/

Corvettes, unlike the Citadel-defined corvettes, were small craft slightly larger than a shuttle used to drop off squadrons in contested hot zones. More heavily armoured than a shuttle, they were capable of landing troops directly into the thick of battle.

_Corinthe-_class Corvettes were the pinnacle of design by the engineering arm of the Imperial Navy. Plated with a quarter-foot-thick layer of dwarf-steel, and assisted by powerful levitation enchantments, the corvettes were nimble as well as durable. They were also armed with quad-mounted Scorpion arbalests on their wings, and given a half-dozen precharged arcanocannons, giving them some air-to-ground fighting capabilities. Four assault crossbow turrets are present on the hull, two to each side.

However, due to the requirement by the Imperial military that these were to require no battlemages other than the pilot (since effective battlemages were more required on fighters, frigates or other larger ships of the line), they did not possess shielding, relying on the superior manufacturing quality of the Dwemer to ensure their crew returned in one piece. There was, however, a distinct weakness. Due to the absence of shielding, the weaker glass on its viewport was vulnerable to anti-vehicle fire. To this end they were frequently nicknamed 'metal coffins' due to the fact that a single well-placed anti-vehicle rocket to the cockpit would result in an inevitable crash, whereas shielding would prevent this.

Compounding these issues was the small available transportation space, much less than a standard Alliance UT-47 Kodiak's passenger space when it comes to the air-drop bay. It could fit six lightly armored personnel and their equipment comfortably, though armored personnel could be fitted in with some discomfort. Nine other crew members were required to man the other turrets spaced throughout the small ship.

/- Codex : _Scorpion_ Arbalest -/

_Scorpion_-model arbalests represent the most vicious of Imperial Military Industries' weapons. Built for brutally incapacitating damage, these arbalests were constructed of pure ebony, with a mass effect field four times the usual strength of an assault crossbow on its tiller. The result was a terrifyingly powerful weapon capable of firing a quarter-pound ebony crossbow bolt at a blinding speed of ten times the speed of sound, capable of piercing most armor platings and some fortifications.

With power comes additional cost, however. The recoil from the weapon, even assisted by the mass of the weapon itself and significant amounts of recoil-dampening enchantments, was still significant enough to knock over an unprepared or untrained user, potentially even shattering bones. The weight and size of the bolts meant that fewer bolts could be carried compared to a standard assault crossbow, and both the eezo-stick and the soul-conductor battery required frequent charging, therefore imposing a requirement that its user be proficient with some destruction magic. This, however, was no problem when mounted on ships, as additional batteries could be carried on board.

/- Codex : _Numidium_ Heavy Tank -/

The Dwemer frequently looked upon their past with yearning, particularly for the days when the metal giant Anumidium was still present upon Nirn. Though they have not succeeded in creating another walking mechanical god like in ancient times, they had managed to create a formidable tank for the battlefield.

_Numidium_ heavy tanks were outfitted with a foot and a half of ebony-glass alloy plating, coupled with an advanced gas turbine engine. Though the heavy tanks' drive systems were archaic by Citadel standards, their lighter mass allowed the tanks to manoeuvre as well as any other.

They were equipped with a single high-calibre arcanocannon, which with a complement of skilled mages could achieve a ponderous fire rate of four shots a minute. The firepower of this tank was such that it could easily shoot down corvettes and damage frigates, however its slow traverse meant that lighter units such as infantry and gunships could simply move around it before it could get an accurate lock.

A/N:

Well, chapter 5 is up. I'd intended the invasion of Lorek to be a fast one, split into two chapters.

See if you can pick up a throwback to one of Skyrim's generic Imperial/Stormcloak lines somewhere in here.

I might be unable to update for awhile due to work and incompetent groupwork teammates. ETA for the next chapter = 1.5-3 weeks.


	6. 06 - Crossing the Rubicon

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Jalnor, Lorek, 1125 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'Are you telling me, captain, that your frigate cannot breach those walls with your cannons? Keep firing!'

Caedwynn tapped her foot impatiently, waiting behind a crippled tank. She could hear every one of the legate's exasperated words; they had been bombarding this military compound for an hour, with artillery, orbital and airstrikes, and still the extremely durable superstructure held. The shields had been disabled within the first volley of shock rounds, and within the next half an hour every defensive turret on the exterior had been reduced to scrap.

The burnt-out hulls of at least two dozen heavy tanks marked the severe resistance that the Batarians put up at this fortress. Bodies of both Imperial and enemy troops lay scattered across the three hundred feet between the fortress and the ring of entrenched attackers. None would dare retrieve the bodies of their fallen comrades, for at least one intrepid soldier had been blown to pieces by a stray artillery shell.

They could see the Batarian soldiers waiting nervously inside their bunker, protected by thick shields at the entrance. Too low to be struck by artillery, and too fortified to be blown open from orbit by frigates and cruisers, and far too well-defended to be taken by storm.

The legate was prepared to turn this into a waiting game, if need be. They had supplies for weeks at least, and the cruisers' electrical storm generators would prevent any communications, inbound or outbound. Without reinforcements, surely these Batarians would surrender.

'We aren't going to be attacking any time soon, auxiliary. Quit pacing around before I nail your foot to the ground,' Caedwynn growled, checking the tension of her Scorpion.

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Lorek Orbit, 1130 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Asha T'Valis could not believe her luck. She had been investigating rumours of a weapon of mass destruction on this Goddess-forsaken planet. And what did she get into? Stumbled into a room with two slavers and their goods; a dark-skinned human-like creature, and two upright-walking lizards. They were not her concern, however when the slavers had opened fire on her, she was forced to defend herself against the slavers.

That was when the sky erupted in flames and lightning, and hundreds of ships descended upon the city. She would have dismissed it as a highly organised Terminus raid, if it were not for the presence of ships _much_ larger than simple corvettes and small frigates. And the completely strange technology, too. They did not seem to fire mass effect field-accelerated slugs, as their shots seemed to simply burn, freeze or shock everything until it was vaporised.

She turned to leave the room, initially intending to leave the slaves to their fate and slip away undetected; but the Goddess seemed to have a completely different idea. A stray artillery shot from the Batarians had struck the building she was in, and the building threatened to collapse upon them all. Having little other choice, Asha summoned her strength and projected a biotic barrier, bracing for the worst.

Fortunately for her, several crossbeams had stopped most of the rubble from falling directly onto her. Still, she had smaller – though still heavy – blocks of concrete and steel to stop. In complete darkness, she had no idea how many minutes, or even hours, had passed before those unknowns had discovered her under rubble.

Strangely, it was the presence of those slaves that had saved her; the one who she presumed the leader – a battle-scarred, lithe and agile woman – appeared to contact her leader by the use of some sphere, and then proceeded to order her subordinates to haul her and the slaves out of the rubble.

And now here she was, in what seemed to be one of their shuttles. Her pistol had been crushed under rubble; having no other choice in the matter, she simply followed along with whatever they wanted to do. Their method of curing wounds and fatigue – Goddess, the hospitals at the Citadel would be kept empty if they had but one of their...caretakers. With a simple gesture and some spoken words, they created a softly-glowing golden ball of light, which would seal even the most grievous gashes. She had even witnessed a brutish green creature be healed of a gash through its arm within seconds, where even medi-gel would take minutes!

'Where are you taking me?' she asked the pilot, who regarded her with a curious glance. They did not seem to comprehend the Asari languages. Nor any of the Earth languages, even though some of their men seemed like tall, muscle-bound humans.

The guards either side of her, she noted, were armed much unlike the soldiers on the ground that she had seen. Where those on the ground wore heavy and cumbersome armour of some black or golden metal, these guards wore sleek, form-fitting pieces much like her own hardsuit, constructed of the same black metal as those she had seen before on Jalnor. Their weapons, however, were as alien as any she had seen among their common troops; one of them did not even seem to have a weapon.

It was also strange that they would wear cloaks, or in the case of the female cat-like creature on her right, a scarf of some rich purple cloth from her left shoulder. Their cold, steely gazes betrayed years of service, unfazed by so much death and destruction. She was a respected Spectre for three hundred years, but even the amount of wholesale, merciless destruction on Jalnor shook her. It was almost like viewing the Council vids on the Krogan Rebellions in her own lifetime. And yet these veterans seemed as though they were completely unperturbed by the sight of streets spattered with blood and draped with guts, merely maintaining a visage of perfect indifference.

Through the viewport, she gasped as she saw a jet-black vessel resembling an Earth depiction of a dragon in profile. It was at least half again as large as the _Destiny Ascension_, which was itself a monstrously oversized ship. On its ventral side was an enormous cylinder running the entire length of the ship, which she presumed was a cannon of some sort. Glowing with an almost palpable amount of energy, she shuddered as she thought of the impact of such a weapon.

The pilot pushed a few levers on the control panel, and spoke a few words into his communicator-orb. Three fighters immediately fell into a recognisable escort formation, flanking the shuttle as they approached a hangar on the dreadnought's side.

Within the hangar, she could see at least four battalions of soldiers in formation, awaiting deployment in transports to the planet's surface. The smooth dull-bronze floor echoed with the synchronised marching of the soldiers, and the walls seemed to tremble with the low rumbles of the idling transports' powerful engines.

Her own transport slowed, and then shuddered to a stop. The two guards motioned for her to stand and follow them, their faces still emotionless.

It was when she stepped outside that she realised that the aliens had all halted their movements and stood at attention. Even the transports had halted their engines, and the two guardsmen also halted and stood stiff as a rod, their hands locked to their temples in a salute.

Another female cat-creature had begun to walk – no, _float_ - down the divide between the battalions of soldiers on either side of the hangars. This one's fur was pure white, without streaks or blemishes; and she too wore a cloak of rich purple like the two guards either side of her. However, unlike the guards, the black suit of armour beneath was decorated with intricate golden inlays, and seemed to _glow_ with some sort of energy.

It wasn't until she drew closer that Asha detected a very odd sensation radiating from this cat; an aura of nearly tangible coldness. By the way the guards bowed to her and spoke reverently, it was clear that she was a leader of sorts, and Asha silently thanked the Goddess that she had listened carefully to diplomatic proceedings in the Council chambers, in case something of this sort occurred.

'It is good to find that there are kind-hearted foreigners outside the Empire,' the cat purred in perfect Batarian, 'Please, follow me. This hangar hardly befits such a meeting of importance such as this,'

Asha nodded slowly, noting that among the hundreds of soldiers, the frontmost ones seemed to be eyeing her with near-suspicion, their hands on their crossbows. Nodding slowly, she followed the floating cat.

After walking down the labyrinthine corridors for perhaps a good five minutes, they had arrived at a grand doorway. The cat spoke some words to the guards still following them, and they bowed to her and departed, though not before casting a look of distaste at the Spectre. Shaking her head, the cat touched a small red orb on the centre of the door, and the door had simply _vanished_.

It was to the Spectre's surprise that a warship had such a well-furnished meeting room of sorts. A long, heavy table of some dense wood sat in the centre, with a dozen or so high-backed seats, each cushioned with luxurious velvets. A large silver dragon, framed in a diamond of platinum, adorned the top of each seat, though an astoundingly large copy of the same symbol hung above the seat at the head of the table. The cat proceeded to sit upon the throne-like seat at the head of the table, motioning for the Spectre to sit on the chair next to her.

'I assume some introductions are in order,' the cat started to speak, clearing her throat, 'I am Empress Valeria Septim I, sovereign of all the Nirnian Empire. And you are...?'

'Asha T'Valis, Special Tactics and Recon, of the Citadel Council,'

A sovereign. Such an ancient term. It filled Asha with slight distaste that space-faring civilisations would still use such ineffective forms of government, but she would never openly admit that.

'Well met, Miss T'Valis. I assume that you have met my two Inquisitors, J'Bari and Hofgeir. I apologise if they may act cold, as though you were a prisoner. However, they are acting to protect you from any ill that some overzealous legionnaires may attempt on yourself,'

'No offence taken,' Asha spoke, though quickly regretting it as the cat raised one eyebrow.

'Hm. In any case, rest assured that you remain a guest of the Empire, so long as you choose to remain within our borders. Our healers have had the liberty of examining your belongings, and could find no identification that you are with the Batarian Hegemony, and therefore we have no reason to be hostile to you, unless you choose to provoke any violence. Are we clear on this, Miss T'Valis?'

'Yes, ma'am,' she replied. The cat's tone was kindly, though there was an unnatural, ever-persistent icy undercurrent that seemed to pervade her words.

Valeria smiled and tilted her head to one side, before continuing to speak.

'I wish we could have met under better circumstances. It is hardly fitting for a first contact with another peaceful race on a battlefield, is it not? Yet this is, for the first time in my reign of fifteen hundred years, a war with another race, another nation,'

'May I ask why?' Asha asked, though she believed she already knew the answer. Batarians' slaving policies had always been a sore point of diplomatic relations, particularly between the Hegemony and the Systems Alliance, who share a common area of interest in the Traverse.

Valeria narrowed her eyes, and spoke her answer in a near-hiss. 'I had believed you would have known the answer, having been found with three of the Empire's citizens. The answer to that question is simple; the Batarians, being the cowardly scum they are, have attacked one of my colonies and razed it to the ground, killing and enslaving everyone on the planet. An attack without pretext, purely driven by greed! I seek to retrieve those citizens, no matter the cost, and avenge those that had fallen,'

Her glare softened, and she sighed. Asha could swear there were sparks gathering in the Empress' hands during her angry reply, but they had faded as soon as she noticed them.

'I must apologise. It is not often that one would question my motives, especially those that I would assume to be obvious. I shall assign one of my Inquisitors to guard you wherever you wish to go. Should you require anything during your stay, simply ask her and she will provide if she can. And one more that must be done,'

She produced a ring from the lining of her cloak, and grasped Asha's hand gently, checking if the ring would fit. Satisfied, she pulled an iridescent silvery gem from another pocket in her cloak, and shattered it on the table. There was a blast of noise, much like a thunderclap, and streams of blue energy streaked from it to the smooth silver surface of the ring. Where there was just plain silver, a number of intricate green runes had inscribed themselves.

'If you were to wear this ring, you would be able to converse with the citizens of my empire as though you were speaking your own tongue,'

So it was like an Omni-tool's translator unit, but in reverse. Convenient.

'...However, I have matters to attend to presently. I shall return momentarily; however, until then, J'Bari shall look after your needs,'

And Valeria disappeared with a flash of lightning, leaving no trace of her ever being there. Asha stood there, mouth agape; never in the history of the Citadel races have they observed a creature teleporting by biotics! Or at least, a close facsimile of it.

The grey tabby-cat that had escorted her on the shuttle returned, bearing a tray of some delicious-smelling roast meats. Perhaps she could decide on what course to take next, over the course of a decent meal. Nutrient pastes and dry rations don't exactly make for satisfying meals, and she had been on this mission for a _long_ time.

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Wrath of Talos, Bridge, 1140 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'How fares the search for our missing citizens on this planet?' Valeria asked a communications officer.

'Milady, the ground troops in all cities outside Jalnor report that resistance has been neutralised, and many enemies are surrendering. We are currently in the process of diverting airspace superiority craft to Jalnor, as per your previous orders. Legion soldiers are now searching buildings for any of our citizens, liberating them from door-to-door,'

He checked his dataslate once more, and turned back to her.

'Latest reports from captains all throughout the planet indicate the presence of at least seventy thousand enslaved persons who are now liberated. Only one hundred are Imperial citizens. They request your guidance as to what to do with the others,'

Valeria thought for a moment. While wars _could_ be won with blood and steel, it was usually more expedient to gather allies and goodwill in order to crush the enemy with less resistance. She sensed little evil in the agent from the Citadel Council; and therefore, perhaps, these aliens could be trusted. Liberation of their own citizens was political capital indeed, one that could be exploited. If not for an alliance, then at least for some friendly relations.

'Have their wounds treated, and ensure that they are given food and supplies as their situation requires. I shall call for transport ships as soon as I am able,' she said slowly, 'Under no circumstances are they to be shackled or bound. Those that resist or are belligerent are to be subdued with nonlethal force. As for the surrendering combatants; gather them all and execute them in six hours' time. Civilians seeking refuge are to be detained,'

The communications officer nodded. 'Relaying message to ground forces. Incoming message from ground troops in Jalnor; they request approval for the construction of a siege encampment, expecting protracted siege. Your orders?'

'Have them establish a perimeter of no less than four hundred metres away from the centre of the enemy fortress. They shall have authorisation to level any buildings within that radius, provided that it is required for their progress. They do not have authorisation to erect structures as yet,'

'Copy that. Any further orders?'

'None for the moment. Relay an order to all fleets in orbit; begin movement towards orbit over Jalnor. I have a message to deliver to these slaving rats,'

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Wrath of Talos, Aetherial Hall, 1155 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Having eaten her fill of the meats, she could not help but notice the surreptitious curious glances that the grey tabby – J'Bari – had cast on her.

'You are a student of the art, then?' J'Bari asked, uncertainly, 'This one detects faint traces of energy about you,'

'What art? What are you talking about?'

In response, J'Bari simply raised a hand and levitated the jug of water that was on the table, and refilled Asha's goblet. Not a single drop was spilled as she manipulated the silver jug deftly back to its resting place.

'Biotics?' Asha queried, finally understanding what the cat was getting at. But a display of biotics without its characteristic glow puzzled her. She focused on the jug, lifting it, but was unable to control its movement with the same degree of precision, nearly striking J'Bari on her nose as she attempted to refill J'Bari's cup.

'This one thinks that Miss T'Valis needs more practice,' spoke J'Bari, frowning.

'It's not like I use this for party tricks. Biotics are more useful for combat,'

'This one has seen telekinesis used for combat. Mainly for dropping heavy things on skulls. This one prefers making things _explode_ and _melt_,'

The excitement in the tabby's half-growling half-purring voice at the mention of explosions worried Asha. She had heard Krogan do the same when one were to talk to them about powerful shotguns, their quad, or fertile women; but this was the first time that she had seen a glint of maniacal glee at the mere _mention _of blowing things up. She could even swear there was a very faint hint of brimstone, and the tiniest charge of static hanging about the meeting-room's air after the cat started swishing its tail rapidly in excitement.

'I'm guessing you aren't supposed to demonstrate this?'

The cat thought for a moment, before a sly grin crept onto her face.

'This one can do so in a...different way,'

A shard of ice manifested itself in the cat's hand, before lengthening into a soft, pliant tendril, composed of thousands of razor-sharp blades of ice. Rearing her hand back, she whipped it forward, where the ice lashed forward towards the door. To her horror, the door slid back at that moment, and if Valeria not had an instinctive reaction to throw up a powerful ward spell, it would have struck her square in the face.

'Ah, I see that you have started to become...acquainted,' said Valeria, regarding J'Bari's horrified expression with amusement, 'Calm yourself, _ja'Khajiit_. There is no harm done, and no offence taken. I assume your penchant for Destruction magicks has once again overwhelmed your better judgment,'

She turned to the Asari Spectre, her face turning grim, 'My soldiers have reported that there are at least seventy thousand slaves that have been liberated, and most of them not of my citizens. I assume that these would be mostly from your Citadel Council's races. Is there then, a reason as to why they have gone without rescue?'

The Spectre had not been expecting that question. Slavery was a fact of life in the Terminus systems and the outer reaches of the Traverse. The Citadel simply did not have enough resources to wage a war on the practice, as pathetic as abandoning its people seemed to be. As the Salarians put it, free land for settlers at their own risk.

'In a gesture of goodwill, we are treating these citizens' wounds and temporarily interning them on colonies of Nirn. If, and when, your Council decides to collect them, they shall be ready for collection within a week's notice. Now, I have a question to ask,'

She floated towards Asha, surveying her with a critical eye. The burning gold of her eye seemed to bore straight to her, and Asha shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She caught sight of a tiny, white-hot spark forming on the cat's fingertips, and the grey tabby likewise produced a small fireball in her grasp.

'I assume that your office of...Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, is not a mere formality. You would not be a regular soldier, if you were sent alone on a planet which I might assume is hostile to your presence. Why then, have you been sent to this world? Speak!'

Thoughts raced furiously through the Asari's mind. Would she have to lie to preserve the secrecy of her mission? But there would be the chance that this cat would detect her lie. Could she fight her way out? Unlikely, given her lack of weapons and the presence of likely thousands of other personnel in the ship, all armed to the teeth.

But then she reminded herself. They were not hostile – at least, as far as she could see. And if the Batarians had sufficient forces to hold an invasion off...perhaps she could use more than a little help.

'I have been investigating the presence of a weapon of mass destruction,' Asha started to speak, attempting to mask her nervousness, 'I've tracked it down to this city. I suspect it would be confined inside their fortress. The council has deemed it safer if a single Spectre were to be sent instead of a platoon of veteran soldiers,'

The white cat's glare softened somewhat, though the spark in her hand had intensified to an arcing stream of electricity between two of her fingers. J'Bari relaxed completely, the flame ball in her palm disappearing with a cloud of grey smoke.

'I suspected as much, after hearing of these slavers' desperate resistance at their last stronghold. I hope that I did not order my men to entrench themselves too quickly. Very well then. I suppose I should allow you to complete your mission, as our goals are not at cross purposes. Make no mistake, however; we are still observing your actions. If you do find anything, I expect you to disarm it. And I assume you will require a weapon, seeing as the centurion that had found you reported your weapon was destroyed. I will have one of my legates on the ground dispense any captured weapons that might be of use,'

She turned to J'Bari, who bowed respectfully.

'J'Bari. Inform the gunnery crew that they are to initiate the bombardment sequence, in five minutes' time. There will be no delays this time, even if it means the main gun will be taken offline for maintenance. Instruct the legate at the forward camp that he is to prepare a detachment of soldiers and some captured weapons from these Batarians. Leave! Now is not the time for formalities!'

'This is also one of the few times where I would assist another with teleportation,' Valeria growled, seizing Asha's arm, 'But I see no other alternative. Stay calm, and for Azura's sake, do _not_ move while I am performing this spell. The consequences of doing so are...gruesome, to say the least,'

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Jalnor, Lorek, 1205 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Valeria breathed in deeply. It had been a while – a very, _very_ long while – since she had any real combat, and the draconic blood in her veins was boiling in anticipation of bloodshed. Being an Empress rarely meant combat, especially once all the nations of Nirn had been brought to heel under a single banner, and she was not even permitted to participate in arena matches for her courtiers' concerns over her dignity and respectability. Even if the mere notion of her citizens being enslaved was abhorrent to her, the chance to battle once again was appealing indeed; and the chance to liberate the oppressed doubly more so.

She hauled the retching Spectre to her feet, grimacing at how terrified the young maiden was. Teleportation was never a pleasant affair for those not accustomed to it, for the first time one were to travel through Aetherius to a different location in Mundus, it was as though a thousand knives were slicing oneself into innumerable tiny pieces, and a thousand more needles were sewing one together at the destination. Valeria had to give the Spectre credit, however, for not flinching and letting go as a lesser apprentice had done in the past. The sight of his innards materialising, haphazardly strewn on the ground within a hundred feet of the destination was not something she wanted to see ever again.

'What the hell was that,' Asha choked, emptying the rest of her stomach onto the ground, 'It feels like I'd been torn apart, stomped on by a Krogan, and put together again by an insane Salarian,'

'Your first experience in travelling through the realm of Aetherius,' the Empress replied calmly. She would have to ask more about the Krogan and the Salarian later, 'Ah, legate. It is good to see Legion men working efficiently,'

'We've received your inquisitor's orders, milady,' he said, dropping a bundle of assorted weapons and heatsinks in front of Asha, 'A long rifle, a pistol, and a rapid-firing small gun. A squadron has been provided on the front lines for the next assault. The rest of the Legion is on standby and is ready to move on a moment's notice,'

'Thank you, legate. We shall move once our guest here has recomposed herself,'

'I'm done, I'm done,' she wheezed, taking a cleaning-cloth from the pile of weapons and wiping her mouth.

What Asha saw in the pile disgusted her, but she had no choice. Batarian weapons were crude, prone to overheating, and were horribly inaccurate; however, she had to give them credit for their astounding stopping power. Picking an Executioner pistol, she fired three shots onto a wall barely thirty feet away, and shook her head when the bullet holes were spaced within a half-foot patch.

'This will do, I suppose,' she groused, putting the pistol onto the mag-lock patch on the side of her boot, raising an eyebrow when the legate watched her curiously, 'You haven't seen a magnetic lock before?'

He shook his head. 'Our weapons do not collapse on themselves, ma'am. It would severely reduce their capabilities when they are needed most,'

'Ah, here it is. The moment of truth,' Valeria said, her dignified tone coloured with excitement, 'The first firing of the _Wrath of Talos'_ main gun at more than five percent of its maximum power. Come, legate, Spectre; witness history being made, and the start of the Batarians being cast down and scattered like dust,'

Surreptitiously activating her Omni-tool's vid-recording function, she followed the Empress and the legate up to the viewing platform on the front of the wall of heavy tanks. She silently cursed when she realised that her transmissions were being jammed, though her thoughts were interrupted by a loud cough from the legate.

'I would suggest you cover your eyes, visitor. I've seen one firing, and I'm not sure I even want to witness one this close. It'll be brighter than bright,'

A thin crimson beam pierced through the storm clouds gathering above, painting the centre of the base with an eerie red glow. Four more joined the first, turning the red glow into a blaze of white-hot flames. Thin streams of electricity streaked down from above, following the telltale bluish-white glow of ionised air. The last thing that Asha heard was a loud hissing noise, before the whole world went blindingly white and she was swept off her feet by a tremendous blast of burning-hot air, her barriers seemingly ineffective against such a massive discharge of energy.

She felt an enormous invisible hand pick her roughly up and set her on her feet, before feeling cold fur brush against her arm. The Spectre groaned, her chest in agony, as though a concussion round had struck her square in the chest. What insane commander would call a firing of a space weapon that close to friendly troops?!

'Get up, Spectre, the Empress is already waiting. Don't say I didn't warn you about the effects,' she heard the voice of the legate, 'Should've hit the ground when you were able. Or thrown up an ice-wall, like some of those battlemages,'

She opened her stinging eyes, colours still flashing before her. The heavy tanks, once painted-black, were all heated white-hot, slowly releasing steam. Walls of rapidly melting ice stood in front of each one, while a number of mages ran about spraying streams of flaked ice from their palms onto the superheated tanks' hulls. Every now and then she could see soldiers rising from their hastily-erected icy shelters, while the frontmost ones roared in triumph.

The Batarians' last bastion was gone.

Where there was a large concrete fortification, complete with heavy turrets dotting the inside of its nearly-impenetrable entrance, there was a crater perhaps a quarter of a kilometre wide and a hundred metres deep. Several Batarian corpses that lay upon the field between the Imperial forces and the fortress had been reduced to piles of wind-scattered ash, the only evidence of them being there a shadow, burned into the bone-white ground; the ground vehicles' carcasses likewise destroyed by the heat of the shot. Even the dense cloud cover of Lorek had been burned away, leaving behind a clear, blood-red sky, an eerie yellow-orange corona hovering above the hole in the clouds like a macabre facsimile of a beautiful polar aurora.

But there was still the lowest sections of the fortification remaining. A gaping hole was visible in the bottom of the crater, where crumbling chunks of concrete were still falling into a dark chamber. What appeared to be the remains of an elevator shaft was attached next to it.

'Legate, have your men on standby,' she heard the Empress speak to her subordinate, 'I will have one squadron to follow myself and our guest here into the bowels of whatever Daedra-damned building they have buried so deeply into the ground. Any non-essential troops are to be sent back to the transports in orbit,'

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Jalnor, Lorek, 1225 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

General Kalnas had seen many things in battle, but this was not one of them. A discharge of energy from orbit, frying all electrical equipment in the base? Such select destruction was unheard of, unless there had been an EMP bomb planted inside from the start.

'Incompetent fools,' he muttered angrily, surveying the numerous bodybags from his command window.

At first, he had thought the sudden loss of communications from the surface base was a mere instrumentation error, or his devices were being jammed. Then the alarms blared, indicating a power surge in every system, before all lights and haptic interfaces promptly exploded in showers of sparks and burnt circuitry. Blast doors slid open as their valves vented pressurised gas, allowing superheated air to surge through the bunker's myriad tunnels.

It was only after three minutes that they had registered what had happened. The wounded trickled in, their skin flayed and flesh seared black and red by the intense heat. Each reported that there was an intense flash of light in the sublevels, incinerating those too close to the centre of the blast.

The remaining soldiers who had not perished gathered, muttering mutinously as they milled about the command chamber of the base. Kalnas had seen this behaviour before, during the Systems Alliance' assault on Torfan. Losing, outnumbered, and suffering enormous casualties, he had no illusions that his troops' loyalty was wavering. If he were to try and escape, he would be branded as a traitor by the Hegemony - if he were not cut to pieces by the enemy first - and if he were to stay and fight, the soldiers beneath him would likely slit his throat in his sleep. No - there was only one solution to redeem his honour.

Emergency lights bathed his command chamber in a sickly orange glow. The last readings he had from the engineers about the fusion reactor's energy levels was that they were close to criticality, and simply had to be overridden to assure mutual destruction. However, with every computer destroyed, his keycard was useless as a remote detonator.

It would have to be taken down to the reactors himself.

Stepping over the bodies of the burned and wounded, he marched to a group of soldiers still standing. Though their eyes glowered angrily at him as he approached, Kalnas maintained a commanding air as best he could.

'You there. Gather your troops,' he commanded the captain, 'We are going to secure the reactor level,'

The captain gritted his teeth and snarled, 'And what are you going to do? Order us to fight to the last man, while you escape? We should surrender while we still can, and hope that they have don't deserve command, you bloodthirsty, low-born son of a whore-'

A single hollow slug to his head was the General's reply.

'I believe I am still in charge here, you worthless pile of varren dung,' Kalnas spat, 'You there, lieutenant - you're now in charge of this meatsack's crew. Gather your men, we will perform our duty. No matter the cost,'

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Jalnor, Lorek, 1225 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Of all the things the legate could have put her squad in charge of, he just _had_ to pick this one.

Caedwynn gaped in shock when she read the message sent to her by the legate. She was in charge of the _Empress' own safety?!_ Never in the sixty years that she had served in the Legion had she obtained the honour of doing so, being regarded by command as too volatile to do so.

'I...I can't believe it,' the auxiliary muttered, 'The Empress, coming down to fight like a common soldier?'

'Better believe that she can fight,' one of the battlemages spoke, 'She came to the Imperial City's Arcane University once, to teach about advanced destruction magicks. I don't think I've ever seen anyone create firestorms that quickly or easily,'

'Cut it out you two. We're on duty. Auxiliary, posterboys - get our backs. You two, get to the front,'

The lights in the chamber underneath the base had been destroyed by the discharge of magicka, leaving only emergency lights as the only source of poor illumination. Treading carefully over the metallic debris strewn over the floor, Caedwynn could swear there was the faint scent of stinging ozone lingering about the place; and glancing to her side, she could see that the two battlemagi had also detected the same, their noses wrinkled in disgust.

'Something isn't right. Magickal discharges shouldn't be producing this stink for so long,' the rearmost battlemage coughed, wheezing, 'Disgusting,'

'I concur. It is best that we proceed more swiftly,' Valeria growled. She reared her hand back and hurled a sphere of light, which burst into a wall of sparkling specks down the corridor. Every piece stuck to the walls, highlighting the charred red paint and the yellow-and-black hazard stripes painted on the floor ahead, in front of an imposing set of blast doors. A red haptic hologram hovered in front of its locking mechanism, while the telltale blue of a kinetic barrier shielded the door itself.

Asha quickly pulled up her omni-tool's hacking program, attempting to crack the encryption upon the door. She gave a scream of pain as the lock emitted a powerful stream of electricity; the two Orcs either side seized her legs and pulled with all their might, ignoring the painful surges that burned into their nerves.

'I've never seen a lock like that before,' she whimpered, slowly raising herself, 'Even the Turians don't use overloads that powerful, and they don't hold back,'

'What's behind those doors?' Caedwynn asked.

The Spectre hung her head, and pointed to the fallen sign on the floor.

_RESTRICTED AREA B39-1A_

_CYCLONE XF-15 EXPERIMENTAL FUSION REACTOR / ENGINE TEST BED_

_NON-ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL NOT TO ENTER_

'That was what I was looking for,' she said, 'No wonder I couldn't find it anywhere on the planet after six months here. I wouldn't have found it even if I spent three years or even five years here,'

Turning to the Empress, she spoke urgently. 'You need to be aware of what this is. Every reactor - I don't know if your Empire uses the same technology - is also a very, very powerful explosive device if set to overload. I've taken readings of the power of this one, and I think that a fully charged explosion may well turn Lorek's atmosphere into a firestorm, one that can possibly melt even steel,'

'Then we have no time to lose. Stand back,' Valeria replied, her hands aglow with energy.

She let loose a blinding bolt of lightning at the locking mechanism. Sparks sprayed from the kinetic barrier projectors on the edges of the door as the electrical energy burned away its circuitry, and the eezo contained in its projection unit burst in a brilliant ball of blue fire. Having destroyed its shield, she hovered to the door, attempting to pry it open with her claws, to no avail.

Frowning, she drew a very deep breath. Caedwynn pressed her hands to her ears, knowing full well what the Shouts of old could do to unprotected ears.

'FUS RO DAH!' she roared. A compressed blast of air and energy shook the tunnel. The blast doors were blown out of their sockets and skidded down the hallway, a trail of brilliant sparks in their wake.

Proceeding down the hallway, they could see what the Batarians had constructed beneath the earth.

There was a spherical core, perhaps thirty metres wide, radiating a stifling amount of heat. Thick pillars and pipes of various sizes supported its bulk, each one shrouded in a wavering mist of superheated air. A vast web of mesh catwalks crisscrossed the reactor chamber, and a large number of yellow-and-black painted tanks sat on the bottom of the room, doused in water that faintly glowed blue. At the far end of the room, a large, blocky mainframe stood behind a semi-circular array of haptic control panels, flanked by a bewildering number of pipes.

Aquilius shivered as he stepped onto the catwalk, looking down. There was a fifty-metre drop from where they were to the water below, which from the steam rising from its surface, would likely boil them alive. He had been to the public baths in the Imperial city, and yet, this was far more humid, and far hotter than any he had been to. Even the two Orcs were dripping with sweat, despite having been trained in the deserts of Elsweyr, and every magic-capable person had conjured up shells of ice to surround themselves, in a futile effort to stave off the heat.

'The reactor's coolant is rapidly evaporating,' Asha spoke, wiping a bead of sweat from her nose, 'I don't know how much longer we have before this reactor goes up in a ball of flame, but with those Batarian engineers dead -' she pointed towards a dessicated corpse of a Batarian, '-we might have enough time to shut this down before it causes more damage. I need to get to those control panels on the other side,'

The squad's centurion nodded, pointing her finger at the control panel.

'Alright. Burz, Amakh, Aquilius; give the guest some cover and get your asses over there. I'll - wait, I hear something,'

The steady stomping of heavy boots on concrete was all they heard before a storm of slugs peppered their position. Both of the battlemages caught the brunt of the shots, being at the rear; their shielding deflected the first six shots and broke under the weight of so many slugs; their ebony plated armour did not fare much better, giving way under the overwhelming barrage. Each fell to the ground with more than a dozen bleeding wounds on their bodies, bleeding profusely. There were perhaps twenty Batarian soldiers in the corridor, their guns barking rapidly as they continued to lay down suppressing fire on the pinned-down Imperial soldiers.

'Damn it, those poster boys. Man down!' Caedwynn growled, ducking behind a low metal railing, 'Should have known this would happen. Burz, Amakh, Aquilius - previous orders still stand. Move your asses to the control panel. We'll hold them off here. Get to it!'

Shaken, the auxiliary nodded, firing off three quick shots from his assault crossbow as he followed the Spectre. The Orc followed closely behind, the shield on his back deflecting every slug that the Batarians fired. Only the centurion and the Empress remained behind.

'So, these slaving, worthless vermin have come to meet their end at last,' Valeria spoke, letting out a mirthless laugh, 'Pathetic wretches! _Joorre, _weak, pathetic _mortals!_'

Caedwynn fired off a single bolt, spearing two Batarians and nailing them to the wall; however, as she looked to her right, she was shaken to observe what the Empress was doing. A bubble of white-gold shielding had covered her form, which shattered Batarian slugs on impact. Her face was contorted in fury, her vampiric fangs fully visible in a wrathful snarl. Both of her hands were raised, a dark purple mist shrouding her fingers.

Batarian soldiers were lifted up off their feet by some invisible, giant hand, clutching at their throats. She flinched as each was hurled into the ceiling or the walls headfirst, with such force that they were suspended by no more than their necks, where the rest of their bodies dangled limply, blood dripping down from their now-crushed heads. Others yet were squashed to the ground, where they screamed with agony as their bodies were slowly crushed as though an invisible weight were upon them..

Sniper rounds flew from the masses of Batarians still standing, a single high-powered slug piercing through the Empress' shoulder. She hissed in pain, the temporary lapse in concentration breaking her telekinesis spell. Purple mist replaced by blue flames, she began to hurl fireballs without abandon at the oncoming enemies, blasting several to flaming cinders.

They continued to fire, the numerous armour-piercing slugs impacting on Valeria's shields. Panting with effort, her wounded hand shivering from the effort of maintaining the powerful barrier, she felt her vision turn darken and turn red. A primal rage began to work its way up, the same way as it did when she had faced Miraak. An uncontrollable desire for control, for dominance, for destruction.

'_Zu'u Dovahkiin! Thur se joorre! Nikriinne zu'u nis ahraan. Rii. VAAZ. ZOL!'_ she bellowed, her rage and hatred shaking the earth.

A blast of purple, accompanied by a noise greater than a hundred bolts of thunder, surged forth from Valeria's lips, knocking over those who had been too slow to dive out of the way of the wave of energy. Rising again, hunched over, the Batarians looked at her with blank eyes, their rifles held limply in their hands.

'_Ziil gro dovah ulse,' _Valeria growled, advancing on the remainder of the Batarians, '_Ahmik unslaad. Krii fin nikrinne!'_

Wielding their rifles like clubs, the reanimated Batarians proceeded to advance on their erstwhile brothers-in-arms. Their undeath only served to strengthen their forms, shrugging off shots that pierced what would have been vital parts in living Batarians. Desperate sprays of slugs from the remaining Batarians tore chunks of flesh from their resurrected comrades, who stared into their eyes with their own cold, unseeing glares, not even flinching as more slugs tore into their bodies.

Rifle stocks and pistols came down on the remaining Batarians' heads, delivered by their former comrades. When the last whimper of pain had subsided, Valeria rounded on her undead assistants, before unleashing a torrent of flame from her hands that incinerated the bodies to piles of smouldering ash.

A distant cry of pain from the far side of the room drew Caedwynn's attention. Spinning around, she saw the black, heavy form of one of the heavy legionnaires fall over the catwalk's railing limply. The other lay motionless on the ground, what appeared to be a head rolling away perhaps five feet away. Only the auxiliary and the Spectre remained, sprawled on the ground before their attacker, a giant Batarian perhaps seven feet tall. Patches on his shoulder marked him as an officer, and she could swear there was a faint shimmer of blue about him.

'Shit,' she cursed, watching the Batarian raise a captured chain-axe in one hand, holding the other two in a biotic grip; their shots having no effect on the officer's advanced armour.

Breathe.

Relax.

Cranking her arbalest to full draw, and loading a single overcharged anti-materiel bolt into her crossbow, she took aim briefly, before pulling the trigger.

Time seemed to slow down, the bolt seeming to sail lazily through the air; the Batarian's chain-axe was on the way down, the Spectre having closed her eyes in anticipation of what would happen -

And the Batarian officer howled in agony, dropping his axe, as the anti-tank bolt pierced his barrier and broke the back of his hardsuit, the point penetrating so far as to burst out the front of his chest. She covered her eyes as the enchantment begun to take effect; a single thunderous explosion marked his end, along with a miniature mushroom cloud where he had once stood. The rails either side of him were nowhere to be seen, as was a circular portion of the steel mesh floor below; the Spectre's armour was badly singed, but remained mostly intact, having been shielded from most of the explosion by the Batarian's own shielding.

'Talos be blessed if I am not discharged from the Legion for that,' muttered Caedwynn. She hadn't meant to use an anti-vehicle load on a person. No matter how much hate she had for the slaving scum, they did not deserve such a fate. Stepping over a bit of charred, burning rib, she began to walk towards the wounded pair on the far side of the room.

It was then that Caedwynn noted something was wrong; and given the Empress' sudden flick of her tail, she had noticed it too.

The heat in the room was rapidly rising, if such a thing were possible. Where it was once as hot as an Imperial bathhouse's steam room, it was now perhaps as hot as a blacksmith's forge. Quickening her pace to a sprint, she leapt over the decapitated corpse of Amakh, and hauled the Spectre to her feet. The water below was boiling furiously, releasing streams of glowing steam; the air itself began to shimmer and warp from the heat.

'What in Azura's name is going on?' Caedwynn demanded, 'What's happened?'

The Spectre gave her a grim smile. 'That was the Batarians' general, carrying a safety override keycard. He had been inside all along, cloaked. We tried to stop him, but...Goddess, I think even Matriarch T'Soni would have difficulties overpowering his biotics. Those two were killed before they could even resist,'

The reactor's alarms began to blare loudly, warnings flashing on whatever haptic interfaces were still up. A single console in the centre remained unresponsive, a blade embedded in it.

'He's deactivated the safeties. We've got ten minutes until this place - and maybe the nearest three hundred kilometres - gets turned into cosmic dust and molten slag. I can try to reduce the power of the reactor, and maybe even give us some more time, but the bastard has destroyed the main console. I can't shut it down!' the spectre shouted desperately over the alarms, her hands flying over the nearest console, 'Get your troops out of here. There's no time to waste!'

'You can't possibly stay in here, you'll be cooked alive!' Aquilius said, aghast.

Valeria nodded in agreement. 'This auxiliary is correct,' she added, 'Your mission was not to commit suicide. I shall contact the fleet so that they may begin evacuating the Legion soldiers on the ground,'

The asari slowed for a moment, her hands resting on the console. She looked up, smiling sadly at the others. She then pulled a small wristband from her arm, holding it up for Valeria to take.

'If it means that thousands would live, I would gladly give my life. I knew the risks when I volunteered to join the ranks of the Spectres. Take my Omni-tool. Maybe you can make use of it,'

'A brave, if foolish, choice,' Valeria spoke, taking the wristband, 'Though I do not believe it should have never come to that. I applaud your bravery. These soldiers remaining here, however, have no reason to stay. Hold my hand, and I shall convey you to safety,'

The remaining soldiers quickly seized Valeria's hand, and the Empress vanished with a flash of lightning, leaving the Spectre behind.

The temperature had become unbearably hot inside the chamber, the Asari being forced to maintain a biotic barrier as her hardsuit frantically attempted to stabilise the atmosphere inside the biotic bubble she projected. One at a time, she began to disconnect the fuel pipelines leading to the reactor core, which was now glowing red with excess heat. She smiled bitterly, knowing that her survival was all but impossible within five minutes; however, she had saved the lives of thousands of enslaved Citadel civilians, and many more of these Imperials.

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Wrath of Talos, 1255 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'All hands on deck! Transport ships, deploy immediately once you have emptied your passenger spaces!' Admiral Servilius barked into his comm-orb, '

He had received a code red evacuation order, authorised by the Empress herself; and from the communications chatter that he had listened to from the other ships, it seemed that the same order had been issued to all.

They had even been instructed to leave their land vehicles behind, unless every serviceman and servicewoman had been safely evacuated, including the rescued aliens. Shuttles and corvettes filled the airspace in a dangerous dance of aerial acrobatics, which the pilots of each vehicle could not have survived without the assistance of the vehicles' guiding spirits. Battlemagi created teleportation portals to frigates waiting above, hurriedly ferrying freedmen and soldier alike; even the cruisers, normally forbidden from flying into atmosphere, were given permission to break naval procedure to assist with evacuation.

Servilius surveyed the situation grimly through the communications orb. There were still close to fourteen thousand souls left on the surface, and the Empress had stated that they only had ten minutes until the reactor-engine below the surface detonated. Eight of which had already passed.

'Admiral, we can't stay here for much longer. The energy surges from whatever is down there is threatening to overload our shield projectors!' a distorted voice spoke through the comm-orb, his voice quaking in panic and an alarm blaring in the background, 'This cruiser is going to have to move!'

'Acknowledged, colonel. All cruisers, return to orbit. I repeat, return to orbit. Frigates, you have sixty seconds more. Corvettes and shuttles, depart with the frigates. Do not attempt to salvage weapons or armour; those can be remade. Experienced soldiers cannot,'

He sunk back in his command chair, exhaling. Never had he ordered such an action, such a _cowardly, despicable_ action. To abandon his brothers and sisters in arms, even if they were footsloggers! There were still far too many of them down below, clutching on to the hope that the next shuttle, frigate or corvette may bring them to safety; that a battlemage could somehow construct a teleportation portal stable enough to carry their squadron to a cruiser; or that an Aedra would have mercy upon them, conjuring a portal to Aetherius. He cradled his face with his hands and wept, not even caring that the bridge crew were all staring at him in confusion.

Valeria stood against the wall, panting as a healer tended to her shattered shoulder-blade. She had spent the last seven minutes teleporting up and down between the _Wrath of Talos_ and the surface camp, taking dozens of troops with every run, ignoring the blistering pain in her shoulder and the slowly-dripping wound that had pierced it. However, even her energy had its limits, for she had collapsed on her twenty-fourth trip, crumpled on the floor in exhaustion.

'Admiral,' she whispered quietly, shedding a single tear, 'Now is not the time to grieve. We may have lost many of our soldiers, but you have performed your duty to the best of your abilities, and thus absolved of any wrongdoing. Those below had joined the Legion willingly, to prove their devotion to myself and to the Empire's citizens; and they knew that the shadow of Sithis forever hangs above their heads, awaiting a disaster to strike. I ask that you request for the ship's soul-heart to be raised. You are aware of what I must do,'

He nodded, mumbling an order through the comm-orb. The Dwemer engineer on the other side of the line bowed his head, slowly walking towards the enormous blood-red synthetic soul gem in the centre of the ship, before reverently touching the silver ring binding its middle.

Those doomed souls below would soon meet their brothers and sisters, those that they had not met and those that had gone before.

Servilius smiled sadly. It was, in a sense, immortality.

Legionnaires would never die.

They simply transcended the limits of their corporeal bodies.

/- Codex : Soul-heart -/

At the heart of every vehicle under the Imperial military is a single soul gem, dubbed the 'Soul-heart' by the mages working on it. These colossal soul gems provide a vehicle with semi-sentience, being filled with the spirits of Legionnaires who were willing to serve the Empire in death, until such a time that they tire and wish to leave for Sovngarde, or any other afterlife they had believed in during their lives. Depending on the number and experience of the souls contained within the soul-heart, vehicles could possess anywhere between a mild predisposition to avoiding bullets and missiles, to fully sentient golems; the former being similar to an auto-piloting VI, and the latter being closer to a true AI.

Contrary to popular belief among the civilians, it is not mandatory for a Legion soldier to commit his or her soul to a soul-heart upon death. It is a conscious choice, which they can choose to leave at any moment, though those who remain behind often do so out of loyalty.

/- Codex : Imperial Ammunition -/

Though for the most part Imperial ammunition had remained mostly the same as they had been in the Fourth Era, some special ammunition had been developed to counter the advances made in mechanics and magickal arts. Standardisation had also begun in mid-Fifth Era, with most ranged ammunition types coming under the IM (Imperial Military) code of standards.

The basic IMX24-AP bolt was 24 inches long, and was designed for use with both manual and automatic Scorpion arbalests. Its pyramidal tip was constructed of a highly-tempered, face-hardened pure ebony, which was filled with a lead-quicksilver alloy. Offering great armour-piercing potential, it was a staple of Imperial sniper corps and mechanised cavalry corps alike.

The more advanced IMX24-I was given a potent flame enchantment, capable of incinerating unarmoured and unshielded troops to ashes, and to severely weaken the ebony armor plate that was common among Imperial vehicles and armour. It could also be used to set buildings alight, if such an effect was deemed necessary. These were more expensive to produce, owing to the heavy use of soul gems, and were issued sparingly.

One final variety that was deemed too dangerous to be sold or even manufactured in large quantities was the IMX24-E. Possession of one of these bolts without a written permission stamped with a legate's seal bore the penalty of death. Each was enchanted with a grand soul gem as a detonation primer and primary explosive, encased in a sheath of hardened ebony. Primarily used as anti-tank ammunition, these bolts could also deal damage against light frigates, as well as blast corvettes and shuttles out of the sky with a single well-placed shot.

Standard military issue for light assault crossbows, the IMX12-AP was similar to its longer counterpart, with the main difference being in the metal that forms its construction. Owing to the higher rate of fire that the smaller assault crossbows had, these bolts were constructed of dwarf-steel to reduce costs, and were not hardened, instead relying on a needle-like head design to punch through armour.

A/N:

Let's see who is dragonborn enough to understand the draconic above.

A/N2:

Sorry about the mess about linebreaks! I've just noticed that my usual 5-asterisk linebreaks get chewed up by the upload monster. Readability should be better now, I've gone through and fixed up the linebreaks.

Eipok

Thanks for the long review ^^ Good to hear someone appreciates my writing. Also, thanks for pointing out the crew numbers discrepancy with the _Wrath of Talos_. I thought about fixing it, but forgot after sleeping U_U it's fixed now.


	7. 07 - Galactic Diplomacy, Part 1

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Wrath of Talos, Aetherial Hall. 1845 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Eleven thousand of her Legion dead, and three thousand more on the surface missing.

Valeria sat in the throne at the head of the meeting room, alone, weeping. She fingered the reforged Amulet of Kings which hung about her neck, feeling its warmth - no, _heat_ - burn through her fur. The agony of those still trapped burned into her mind, visions of despair and anguish flashing before her, their prayers endless, each one's pain cutting into her heart.

She looked at the soul-gem and the wine glass that her other Inquisitor had brought for her dinner. The Argonian was simply trying to look after her, of course; but they, never having felt the reforged Amulet's power, could not even _begin_ to comprehend the reason why she had cloistered herself in the meeting room. Each soul that had pledged itself to Imperial service was inextricably linked with the enormous blood-red gem in the centre of the Amulet, granting her the capacity to feel their distress, to rejoice in their victories, and to soothe their sorrows. And when a vast number of deaths were to occur in such a brief period of time...the results were close to maddening.

She picked up the golden goblet that had been placed before her, filling it nearly to the brim with wine, before crushing the small soul-gem and adding it to the blood-red drink, a small plume of steam rising from its surface.

'It would be a dishonour to drink,' she sighed, setting down the goblet before standing up, 'Not while my children still remain on the planet's surface, while they may still be rescued,'

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System, Mara's Mercy. 1850 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Asha had believed the Goddess had taken her in an eternal embrace. The dozens of fuel pipes in the reactor had been disconnected, but it had merely delayed the inevitable explosion. As the blazing heat in the steaming hot chamber continued to climb, her barriers failing and her suit's environmental control systems flashing warning signals. She collapsed to the ground, feeling her throat and lips burn, her lungs feeling as though they had shrivelled up after swallowing a mouthful of flaming shrapnel. She remembered clawing towards the console, in an effort to disconnect the last fuel pipe, but the world faded to a blissful, unfeeling blackness before she could do so.

But she didn't expect her Goddess' realm to be this...white? An intensely bright light shone down upon her, forcing her to squint. The familiar silver tassels of a richly-embroidered purple scarf dangled in front of her, swaying in a soft breeze.

'This one is surprised. Miss T'Valis is awake,' J'Bari purred, holding a jar of some sweet-smelling salve.

Asha groaned, trying to stand up, before promptly being pushed down again by a gentle furred paw...hand? The skin on her face still burned, and even the cool air that had been fanned towards her had felt as though it had come from a drive core's exhaust vent. Her vision cleared up some more, and she could see the grey tabby's face, surveying her with a particularly worried expression. Behind her was a circle of occupied beds, spread with fine white linen - and if she was not mistaken, a _tree_, a _real, flowering tree,_ inside a space vessel. Others, dressed in white robes, were hurrying about, administering those same curative balls of light that she had seen in use before in the medical camps on the surface.

'J'Bari? I had thought I'd been cooked alive. By the Goddess- where are we? This doesn't look like Jalnor, and definitely not the flagship,'

'J'Bari believes that this is the Imperial void-ship _Mara's Mercy_,' she said, bending down to lather the Asari's face with the salve in her hands; it felt sticky, though oddly warm and comforting, 'Priests of Stendarr are excellent healers. J'Bari believes Miss T'Valis will recover quickly,'

The cat pressed a particularly dense wad of salve onto Asha's neck, before sealing the pink jar with a cork. She sat down in the seat by her bedside, her tail flicking slowly from side to side. Her ears drooped in what the Spectre presumed was guilt; even her wet eyes appeared to have been slightly reddened by tears.

'Nothing makes sense. I thought I was dead for certain down there,'

'This one learns by watching,' she said, twiddling her thumbs guiltily, 'This one watched the Empress perform teleportation. Many times. Empress entrusted Miss T'Valis' safety to J'Bari; J'Bari does so. J'Bari moved to you and picked you up, and tried to return. Thought of getting to the Empress' ship; ended up on the hospital ship. Better luck than skill,'

She felt heat rise up to her face. This cat had rescued her when even she herself had believed that it was impossible to be rescued. She had even risked her own life trying to reach her position.

'I...I don't know what to say,' Asha spoke, 'You would do such a thing for...well, I don't know if I would even do it for a partner,'

J'Bari glanced over to the rows of beds beyond the flowering tree. There were hundreds of other beds in the ship, many filled with victims of terrible burns inflicted by the cowardly actions of the Batarians; some, she heard from the healers, would never truly recover, especially those blinded by the initial flash of heat from the explosion. Others yet had their legs sheared off by shrapnel in the shockwave, and more yet remained in a critical condition, their skulls or ribs crushed by the immense force of the explosion. Had their armour been thinner, or less padded, the death toll would have been higher. And had she helped the battlemages with teleportations, perhaps some of them would have escaped unscathed.

'J'Bari was commanded by the Empress to guard Miss T'Valis. J'Bari obeys the Empress...mostly. Death affects all, but it affects the Empress most. She feels what we feel; and to have so many deaths...'

She trailed off, looking at the floor. She quietly cursed to herself; why, of all the schools of magicka, was she competent in only the arts of Destruction? She could not conjure Daedra like the others, to carry away the wounded. She could not levitate supplies from deck to deck, to assist the healers with supply movement. She could not even bring a steady source of light for the surgeons to work with. Her hands stank of smoke and ozone, the mark of a master of Destruction; and even the healers would regard her with suspicion whenever she offered to handle a medicinal salve to apply to patients.

'J'Bari is sorry. J'Bari is not a healer. This one can only destroy, burn and freeze,' she growled, standing up, 'J'Bari is only slowing down healers here. Miss T'Valis is safe, and J'Bari sees with her own eyes that Miss T'Valis is awake. This one will let the healers know that Miss T'Valis may call her whenever she is needed,'

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Wrath of Talos, Aetherial Hall. 1855 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Valeria had barely looked up as the door as it slid open, still swirling the goblet of soul-infused wine idly.

'J'Bari,' she mumbled, hearing the near-silent footsteps, 'I take it you have good reason for disturbing me? I have dismissed the Inquisitors for the night,'

'This one is here to report to Your Majesty that her directive remains fulfilled. This one rescued Miss T'Valis from certain death on the planet,'

The Empress looked up, her eyes narrowed with annoyance. J'Bari winced, sensing the sparks building up between the Empress' fingers. She had abandoned her post at the ship's bridge, to assist with the rescue of a _single_ soldier out of many that could have used her assistance. Her ears flattened, J'Bari closed her eyes, awaiting whatever punishment the Empress would inflict upon her,

But no lash of lightning descended upon her fur.

'You have chosen to rescue a single foreign soldier, out of many. You were a Legion battlemage, as I remember; and the Legion looks after its own. Why then, have you deserted your post in the bridge, despite my orders not to do so? Why then, have you abandoned your fellow Legionnaires, in their hour of need?'

'This one believed that Your Majesty's previous order was to keep the Spectre alive. This one did so, at a time when shuttles could no longer land, and everyone must leave the surface,' J'Bari replied, hoping that her answer would placate the Empress, 'This one believed that as no more could be rescued by staying in command, one more could be rescued by teleportation, and still keep both instructions satisfied _and_ to keep this one's oath to the Legion fulfilled,'

She opened her eyes as she felt a gentle, though cool, hand close upon her shoulder. The Empress viewed her, a slight curl on the edge of her lips. Her eyes were no longer narrowed in anger, but the thin red web of lines about them betrayed sadness, and tears long dried up.

'And so you have completed all of my instructions. I cannot, however, congratulate you; if you were capable of teleportation, then you should have done so earlier. Many more lives could have been saved. For now, get you to your quarters. Rest, eat, recover your strength. There would be many more tasks to complete tomorrow,'

J'Bari leant down and licked the Empress' left hand, before turning to leave for the Inquisitors' quarters. As the door leading away from the Aetherial Hall closed, she could have sworn that she could hear soft sobs coming from the hall.

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Mara's Mercy, 0730 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Asha had no illusions about the pain of recovery; she had, after all, experienced numerous wounds throughout her career as a Spectre. Shrapnel, bullet wounds, gashes and slashes, shattered bones, even impalement by a stray piece of reinforcing metal; but by far, she could say that the worst were burns.

She had been stripped of her armour and clothing by the healers, who grimly peeled away the layer of plastic undersuit that had melted to her skin; even through the anaesthetic drugs that they had fed her, she was screaming in agony as the charred skin beneath was torn away in sheets. They had hastily coated the raw flesh beneath with the same soothing salve that J'Bari had given her before, which did slightly relieve the throbbing pain. Their linen bandages, wrapped very tightly about her, merely aggravated the stinging sensation in her torso, where a particularly severe burn had caused boils to burst just below her breast.

The last thing Asha remembered before falling into an insensate sleep was the healer letting her know that the master healer would return tomorrow morning.

The reason why, she would see now, in the morning after the dreadful ordeal.

Piles of wooden coffins were hauled in by green-skinned brutes, while a black-robed priest uttered prayers to a certain Arkay as bodies of those that did not make it were placed inside them. The healers had moved around less quickly, more of exhaustion than a lack of will. She had noticed some of them were sipping at some bluish fluid while they rested, like those healers that she had seen among their Legion on the ground.

'You're awake,' a female white-robed healer spoke, half-yawning; her pointed ears drooping slightly, 'Stendarr truly watches over you. I had prepared for the worst when I had seen J'Bari haul you in, looking worse than something taken from the Deadlands, but I think you should be fine now. I'm Aelwynn, the master healer in this ward,'

She bent down, pressing a glowing finger against the Asari's cheek. A powerful pulse of energy surged through Asha's body; she could feel the flesh stop stinging a little at a time, from the point where the healer's finger touched her, spreading outwards as the feeling of comforting warmth wrapped itself around her. Feeling returned to her face as skin wove itself over flesh, reforming as though nothing had ever happened there; whatever pieces of charred, blackened flesh had remained sloughed off; and within a minute the rest of the skin on her body had woven back together, as if nothing had ever happened.

The glow of golden energy subsided, and the healer leant back, smiling sadly. The spectre opened her mouth to speak, but Aelwynn shook her head.

'On a better day, perhaps I could speak with you. My oath as a healer requires that I heal everyone to the best of my ability. However, as there are many others who are also grievously injured, I must beg my leave so that I may restore them to health. Good day to you,'

She placed a neatly-folded white linen dress on the chair to the side of the bed, motioning for Asha to wear it before leaving. There was also a note upon it, as well as her Omni-tool wristband.

The writing was scrawled in an untidy hand with some brownish-black ink.

'This one knows you will be well soon, so please accept this robe from my wardrobe. The Empress will wish to speak with you later today, and this one hopes that the dress is more presentable than a hospital smock.

-J'Bari'

The robe was utilitarian, with no decorations save for a simple silver band about the neck. It had been shortened to knee-height, and was rather baggy, especially considering the feline Inquisitor's lithe and lean build. An Imperial dragon was embroidered upon its left breast in silver thread. Perhaps it was the standard dress uniform of the Imperial Legion? Whatever the case, Asha was glad to dispose of the ribbons of linen that bound her previously-burnt skin, along with whatever charred residue had sloughed off when she had been healed.

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Wrath of Talos, Aetherial Hall, 0800 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'Your Majesty,' J'Bari said, bowing, 'This one brings you the guest from the Citadel Council,'

Valeria sat at the head of the table, her fingers locked together as she looked up towards the Spectre and the accompanying Inquisitor. Piles of dataslates lay haphazardly scattered about the table near her, and a scrying orb beside her elbow was screeching orders every few moments, apparently directed to whatever ground troops had been re-deployed in the aftermath of the explosion on the surface of Lorek. If her bloodshot eyes was any indication, she had not slept at all overnight, working to restore order down below.

'Thank you, J'Bari. Now, as for the issue at hand,' she said, leaning forward, 'I have received reports that the Batarians on the surface have been...pacified. I also have another issue that must be rectified quickly. Three, in fact,'

'First, those of your peoples that we have rescued from the Batarians' clutches. There are exactly seventy thousand and thirty-nine of them that have escaped the cataclysmic explosion that had claimed ten thousand of my Legion's men and women. While I am willing to share what supplies we have with them, we cannot simply feed them, clothe them, and water them forever. They must be resettled on Nirn, or one of the Outworlds, until such time that your...Citadel Council...wishes to retrieve them. Assuming, of course, that they are willing to do so,'

'Secondly, the issue of your Citadel Council. I do not, for a moment, believe that the galaxy would exist without another nation elsewhere in the vastness of the void. To believe such a thing would be an affront to Mara, to suggest that Her benevolence would not extend to those outside the realm of our Empire. I would certainly like to speak to the leader...or leaders...of this Council, for myself. I would be grateful if you were to direct our fleets to the Council, so that we may discuss matters of state. What say you?'

Asha nodded, smiling. She hadn't made any demands of them, not as yet; and to have the ex-slaves resettled, even if not on Council worlds, was good news. A part of her screamed that perhaps these Imperials were scheming something; nobody, after all, gives services so large without requesting something in return. But her thoughts were silenced as Valeria spoke of her third and final issue. The Empress' face was grim as she spoke the last request.

'Thirdly. The soul-heart of this ship had reported that a foreign ship, not bearing the identifying marks of a Batarian vessel, had been following us for days. We have decided to ignore this vessel for the duration of this assault on Batarian space. However, the vessel draws ever closer to our fleet, and can no longer be ignored. If you would, please try to communicate with this vessel. It would be _truly_ unfortunate if we were to eliminate a Council vessel unknowingly,'

Another vessel? A pirate vessel would have abandoned their mission upon seeing a fleet that size, Asha thought. But if it were a Turian or Salarian vessel...it was too far away from Council space to have been one of theirs. That left only one possibility.

'Your Majesty,' Asha spoke, smiling, 'I believe I might know the identity of this vessel. If I could have access to communications, I could attempt to contact their captain,'

'You have my authority to do so. I shall contact Admiral Servilius to make appropriate arrangements. J'Bari, if you will; lead her to the bridge. I shall continue my work here,'

The bridge, it turned out, was a short...levitation...trip from the hall. Why they had not yet invented elevators was a mystery to Asha, but she supposed that ascending or descending at will without waiting for an elevator chamber was an efficient, if stomach-churning, method of travel. Once she had regained use of her legs without stumbling, she followed the Inquisitor towards the bridge.

'This one is curious,' J'Bari said, ears perking up, 'J'Bari notices that Miss T'Valis uses blue-magic. Is it common for Miss T'Valis' kind to use it?'

'Biotics? Almost every Asari - every one of my kind - has some ability with biotics,'

'This one was born on Zenithar's Harvest. This one was abandoned by her parents when she was found to use blue-magic. This one's parents thought it a gift from a Daedric Lord, a very ill omen,'

A faint blue aura projected itself around J'Bari, though it quickly faded away, and her ears drooped.

'This one cannot use blue-magic for too long, and does not know what to do with it. Khajiit finds it too exhausting. But we are now at the bridge. J'Bari hopes that she can speak about blue-magic with Miss T'Valis again sometime,'

The bridge was different to any Asari vessel that Asha had ever seen before. Where an Asari dreadnought's bridge was comprised of a ring of command desks overlooking various system consoles and displays, this bridge was composed of a double semicircle of dataslate-panels, all facing outwards through a clear viewing port. The hundreds of guns on the deck to the front were visible, scanning the blackness of space ever-vigilantly for any unknown vessels, while larger frontal cannons remained still, their muzzles periodically sparking with power.

'So this is our guest. On behalf of the Empire, I greet you,,' a gruff voice rumbled. A tall, middle-aged man strode towards them, 'Admiral Lucianus Servilius, of the Imperial Navy. I've been instructed by the Empress that you are to be permitted to use the communications orb on the bridge to attempt to make contact with the unknown vessel we have detected. Make it quick, and I must remind you; if they prove to be hostile, we _will_ blast them into pieces so small that even Akatosh wouldn't be able to put them together again,'

Their communications device, it seemed, was an enormous scaled-up version of the orbs that she had seen the legates and the Empress use. As J'Bari pushed her hand to a smaller orb beside it, Asha hoped that it would work with whatever short-range communications that Council races had used; if not, the galaxy would find itself with one less Spectre.

* * *

_Omega Nebula, Fathar System. Normandy SR-2. Communications Room, 0810 hours._

'Commander Shepard. Incoming vidcall on line 1,'

'Who's it from, EDI?' she asked, stepping away from the galaxy map in the CIC.

'An unknown dreadnought-sized vessel identifying itself as Imperial Navy Void-Ship _Wrath of Talos._ The caller identifies herself as Asha T'Valis, Spectre,'

'She's still alive? I thought she had gone dark three years before I had attained Spectre status. Patch her through, but maintain your guard. This could be a trap,'

She grimaced slightly. Asha had been assigned to the Terminus systems for a _long_ time - and apparently maintained silence so well that the Council had presumed she had been killed in action. To have her contact the Normandy, so long after her empty-casket funeral, seemed very suspicious indeed.

No less suspicious than myself, Shepard thought wryly. Many eyewitnesses had seen the Normandy blasted to pieces over Alchera, and very few believed that she was indeed Commander Shepard, and not a Cerberus clone installed as a spy among the Spectres. Stepping through the communications room door, she had found that Miranda had beaten her to the scanning pedestal.

'With Cerberus markings on your vessel? I should think that a Spectre would have enough integrity to not work with the likes of you!' she heard a angry female hiss.

'I am telling you, she is on this - oh, here she is,'

The usually calm and collected Miranda was visibly flustered by the exchange, and a seething Asari was visible on the vidcall pedestal. Apparently disgusted by the Cerberus colours that Miranda had worn, the Spectre's anger was barely mitigated by Shepard's presence on the vidcall platform.

'Shepard. I am not sure whether I should call you a fellow Spectre, or a traitor to the order that the Council represents,' Asha spat, 'You'd better explain yourself. How did humanity's first spectre end up working for a pro-human terrorist cell? Is this some sort of conspiracy?'

Shepard held up her right hand, backing away slightly, 'I'm not working for them, They're working for me. I don't agree with their methods, but they're the only lead I have against the Collectors,'

'Wearing their colours...disgusting. If it were any other Spectre doing that, I would have tried to kill you myself. But...I did hear the _Destiny Ascension _was saved by your actions, and the actions of the human fleet...so you probably had a very, _very_ good reason to join up with Cerberus, which is probably not only for the sake of the advancement of humans. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now,'

'Trust me when I say I don't like working with them either,' said Shepard, rolling her eyes, 'You wouldn't believe how many bugs I find on this ship,'

'And bugs would be the least of your worries when - oh, Your Majesty. Alright. Shepard, you're off the hook for now. Expect to hear more about this when I return to Council space, mark my words. Shameful, that's what it is...'

The image of the Asari Spectre faded away, replaced by that of a creature resembling an upright Earth lynx, covered from head to toe in black robes and armour. Something about her seemed to _radiate_ authority, though Shepard could not identify exactly what it was. She stroked the short mane of white fur about her neck, before speaking,

'I had heard the exchange...Commander Shepard. I am Valeria Septim, Empress of the Nirnian Empire,' she spoke, half-growling, 'And I believe that you had best explain your actions. This ship had detected yours for a few days now, and still you have neither declared your intentions, nor have you broken away from your current course. Under normal procedures, we would have destroyed your vessel without qualm. However, under the recommendation of your colleague, Miss T'Valis, I have ordered my ships to stand down, at least for the time being. Given that she has identified you personally, and not an enemy or an unknown person, I am compelled to believe that you are not hostile, and therefore a pre-emptive strike would be unwarranted. So I ask you; _why are you following my fleet_,'

The threat in her voice was clear. Inwardly, Shepard felt an intense desire to show her revulsion for the diplomacy-at-gunpoint that this cat was exhibiting; only Krogan were likely to do such things. Nevertheless, she maintained a cool, collected facade as she replied to the question truthfully.

'I had received a tip-off from a source that an unknown fleet was about the Omega Nebula, and had decided to investigate,' she spoke, carefully choosing her words.

'And your investigation would require several days' worth of surveillance? I find your mission highly suspect, Commander. A hail from your ship may have saved your crew, had we been much more aggressive,'

'And hailing an unknown, possibly aggressive fleet would likely endanger my crew more, if you were to fire on my ship upon finding it,'

Valeria let out a bark of laughter, and smiled.

'_Paaz._ A fair answer. That which you do not know should be treated with caution and fear. I trust, however, that you would have further reasons, of which I do not know, nor am I interested in knowing. I have a request to make of you, however; and I believe your colleague does as well,'

'Let's hear it,' said Shepard, crossing her arms.

Valeria began to pace about, stroking her mane as she did so.

'I have in my possession, a number of citizens from your Citadel Council, held against their will by the Batarians. They have since been liberated by my soldiers; and are no doubt _desirous_ of their complete freedom; restored to their rightful holdings, and possessing the capability of seeing their families and homes once more. I will return them, in due time; meanwhile, they shall be relocated to Nirn, to ensure their safety,'

'And what would you have me do for their return?'

'_Drem_, child. Patience. I cannot ascertain whether or not your Citadel Council is at all willing to conduct business with my children yet. I would like to meet with the leader, or leaders, of this Council, so that we may speak of matters of state,'

Shepard mulled the idea in her head. She had no option but to agree, given how every cannon in the fleet had now been trained on the Normandy; however, to lead them to the Council, with an assembled fleet no less - it could disrupt the balance of peace in the galaxy. And the Council were unlikely to look favourably on having a second sovereign power in the galaxy; at best, relations would be strained between these newcomers, and at worst, an all-out war could ensue, claiming billions of innocent lives should it have ever come to that.

She had also seen fragments of cleaned-up footage that had been sent in a burst transmission from what she now knew was Asha's Omni-tool; they were not above performing orbital bombardments to destroy an enemy thoroughly. Given the total destruction she could see on Lorek's habitable equator, they were also _far_ more brutal with their repression of Batarian slavery than the Council had ever been.

'Alright. I will lead your ship to the Citadel,' Shepard spoke, uncrossing her arms. 'However, Citadel security prohibitions prevent armed ships not associated with Citadel security from entering its orbit. The Councillors of the Citadel would look more favourably if you were to arrive in a single vessel,'

'A fair statement. I, too, would view such a large force as an invasion, if it had ever arrived at my doorstep - and therefore would also act accordingly. In a display of good faith, I shall comply. Ah, it seems that Miss T'Valis has more to say to you. I shall allow her to continue her conversation. And Commander; I should like to meet your Council as quickly as is possible. Justice has not yet been exacted upon these slaving Batarians, and even now my fallen legionnaires are crying for vengeance. Farewell for now, Commander; we shall meet again,'

The cat was once again replaced by the Asari Spectre, whose ire had calmed down somewhat. Somewhat being a very, _very_ relative term.

'Shepard. This isn't over. When you and I return to the Citadel, I assure you that the Council will be examining you very closely,' Asha spoke through gritted teeth, 'For now, I will trust that your moral compass hasn't been broken yet by those pro-human terrorists. I suggest notifying the Council that they will be entertaining...visitors,'

* * *

_Citadel, Widow Nebula. Councilor Anderson's Apartment, 2045 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'Councilor Anderson,' Shepard spoke through the vidcall unit, 'We've got a situation on our hands, and it's not pretty,'

'Shepard. I trust that it's pretty damn important if you're calling at this hour of night. What's the situation?'

'I've made contact with the new species' head of state. She seems interested in maintaining peace with the Council,'

'There's more to it than that, if you're calling this late. Continue on,'

Shepard sighed, tapping her Omni-tool to forward images of Lorek that EDI had managed to obtain during the _Normandy_'s flyover of the planet, as far as the Imperial forces had allowed them. The burning wrecks of cities were still visible from space, clouds of dark grey smoke dotting the equator wherever cities once stood.

'That was the Hegemony planet of Lorek, wasn't it?' Anderson said, looking at the location signatures on the images, 'And what's happened here? It looks like the planet's been razed to the ground,'

'Selectively razed to the ground, sir. I have also found Spectre Asha T'Valis, rescued by these new species during their invasion of Lorek. They performed a very thorough sweep, sir. I have forwarded Spectre T'Valis' report to you and the Asari Councilor as well,'

'According to the reports...' Councilor Anderson whispered, flicking through the pages that Asha had compiled, 'By God. Shepard, I need to know - is this report fabricated? Seventy thousand slaves liberated during that one assault? And all of Lorek's Batarian inhabitants killed or executed, including civilians? While all of the liberated slaves are temporarily interned on this planet called Nirn?'

Shepard nodded. The Empress' methods, brutal as they were, obtained results. From what she could tell from EDI's sensor readings as they passed through the Sahrabarik secondary relay from Fathar to Omega, pirates and slavers had begun to avoid the secondary relay like it would infect their ships with the plague. She shivered as she considered the fate of the Batarians Asha had seen below, on the surface. Mass graves had been dug in every city, where all surviving Batarians would go. Those that had surrendered were not excluded from execution; every Batarian male, female, or child, had been thrown in and promptly burned to ashes by waiting Imperial soldiers.

'That is correct, sir. As far as I am aware, any non-Batarians who showed no resistance were interned without violence,'

'I see. Thank you, Shepard-'

'Sir,' she added hastily, 'There is more to it. These Imperials, as they call themselves - tomorrow, their flagship will arrive early in the morning, carrying their diplomats and their Empress. The Council must be ready to speak with them,'

'Noted. I will notify the other Councilors of this immediately,'

Anderson frowned grimly as the vidcall link turned itself off. He hated being a Councilor; all the hand-wringing, the lying, the half-truths, the misdirection - all of it. But if doing so would advance the interests of the Systems Alliance, he was duty-bound to do so. And this meeting would be the first of its kind in...well, since the Relay 314 incident.

'I certainly hope history won't repeat itself,' he groaned, moving towards his apartment's bathroom.

* * *

_Citadel, Widow Nebula. Wrath of Talos, 1140 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'So this is the Citadel,' Valeria whispered, tilting her head to one side, 'It is a large space station. I had expected a planet, at the very least,'

'_Wrath of Talos, this is Citadel Control. Docking bay E-19 is cleared for your use. Please utilise a shuttle as we are unable to accommodate a dreadnought in any docking bay,'_

'Acknowledged,' Servilius droned, 'Damn them. Building a space station of that size without building a docking bay to fit this ship? Your Majesty, my apologies - it appears that we are forced to use one of our corvettes to land, due to lack of appropriate docking facilities. I estimate that we should be able to arrive within five minutes,'

Asha opened her mouth to argue back that the space station was not built by the Council, but then kept her mouth shut. Perhaps if they could be tricked into believing that the grandiose space station was built by the Council, then they would be more likely to accept a treaty favourable to the Council. No - for now, she would remain silent.

As she and the Empress began to walk towards the hangar bay of the dreadnought, she had noticed that several others had joined their group. J'Bari was among them, and she had given the Spectre a quick wink and a flick of her ear before falling in line with the rest. Each of them wore an ornate black robe, with swirls of silver about their hems. A brooch of gold secured their ankle-length heavy cloaks, which shimmered with some unknown power; and beneath all their robes, Asha could hear the faint scraping of an armour suit's chafing plates.

J'Bari still wore her purple scarf, however, despite the odd looks that the other Inquisitors had given her. Noting this, the Empress sighed quietly, shaking her head as the group finally emerged through the hangar's blast doors.

The corvette that they had selected seemed to be uniquely crafted. Where there was a simple bench in a normal corvette, the Empress sat upon a miniaturised silver throne, complete with luxurious red velvet cushioning. Despite what Asha could only assume was an outstandingly comfortable seat (for even the benches in this particular shuttle had been lined with plush cushions), the Empress seemed to be ill at ease, particularly as she periodically grasped the enormous ruby that was set in a pendant about her neck. Filing this away in her mind, the Spectre regarded the magnificent view before her.

The Citadel defense fleet had been arranged artfully in a display of unity; the Turian, Asari and Salarian vessels moving in wedge formation about the Citadel. No doubt they had desired to awe the newcomers under the pretense of maintaining security, but the Imperials seemed completely unperturbed by the display, merely raising eyebrows as a group of Salarian fighters settled into escort positions around the shuttle.

'They're efficient, I'll give them that,' A reptilian Inquisitor spoke quietly to the man next to him, 'Settling all these fighters around us in a short time. If it weren't for the fact that there's one of them inside this shuttle who's fought beside us, I'd wager this is a trap,'

'You really live up to your name, Sits-On-A-Thorn,' replied another to his left, 'Not everyone's out to kill us,'

He nodded slowly. 'Yes, indeed. Not _everyone_. Barring the dozen or so assassination attempts by the various senators that us senior Inquisitors have had to...defuse...it's very much unlikely that we would be led into a trap by a completely unknown nation whose motives and disposition are currently unknowable. I am merely being cautious, young one; one does not survive for nearly a century by being careless,'

The corvette zoomed into the docking bay, where dozens of curious citizens had gathered about the docking platforms on the far side to observe the arrival of a new species (or in this case, several species). A platoon of C-Sec officers had been deployed around a platform marked as E-19, sealing exits and scanning floors, benches, and even vending machines with their Omni-tools.

_Strange_, Asha thought to herself, _This isn't normal procedure. Normally C-Sec would simply arrange a shuttle or two for diplomatic missions, and two dozen or so officers patrolling the perimeters for any potential pranks._

Her Omni-tool pinged, and she raised the holo-message to eye level. She gritted her teeth; the Batarian diplomat was present at the Council at the moment, as well as a number of suspected Batarian terrorists among the lower wards.

'Is there something that you are concerned about, Spectre T'Valis?' asked Valeria, 'You seem troubled, after viewing that device. Has it been damaged, in the brief period it was under my care?'

'No, not at all, your Majesty,'

In truth, the device seemed _warmer_ - if that was even possible for an Omni-tool. She could swear there was a periodic flash of gold, or a spark of sunlight, on its surface; but before she could take a good look, it had disappeared as quickly as it had come. But everything was in working order, as far as its functions were concerned.

The Salarian fighters zoomed away as the corvette settled itself into the docking bay, the Citadel's docking tube only partially meshing in with the oddly-shaped boarding door of the foreign ship. Asha shivered as she observed the hundred-metre drop from a gap in the boarding tunnel. She had lost a colleague to a fall once, during a training mission gone wrong during her training among the Asari commandos. To this day, they hadn't recovered the operative's body on Sur'Kesh; the jungle had been far too thick to explore, let alone find a single body within the dense jungle underbrush.

A group of Turian C-Sec officers marched towards them, in the typical stiff-legged gait common among all Turians. The leader halted, before checking his Omni-tool for a correct translator program.

'Don't bother, they can understand you,' Asha mumbled, to which the Turian officer raised a browplate.

'Then why have we received a translator program sent by one of you Spectres? It does not matter,'

He turned to the group, looking the Empress square in the eye. Offering a nod and a three-fingered hand, all he received was a confused look from the Empress, who uncertainly shook his hand gently.

'I am Officer Arvernus, of the Citadel Security force, or C-Sec for short. I've been instructed to keep you and your diplomatic entourage safe. While upon the Citadel, we request that all weapons be left at your shuttle, or away from the station entirely. C-Sec will handle all security matters within this station. I am afraid that there are no exceptions to this rule, aside from Spectres on duty,'

'Your concern is...noted, Officer Arvernus. Rest assured that none of my bodyguards possess a weapon _upon_ them,' she said smoothly, 'Nor do I expect that they shall need to use their skills. I have been informed that one of your own shuttles would convey us to the Council chambers?'

'Yes. They shall be here shortly,'

'Excellent,' she said, 'I would certainly hope that the rest of the station is equally well-built,'

The Turian's mandibles widened in a grin as the shuttles arrived, though Asha could detect the slightest hint of disdain despite the cat's best attempt to mask it. Whatever the reason that the Empress possessed, the Spectre had no time to reflect on this, as the loud rumble of a Kodiak shuttle's engines overpowered her hearing.

Three shuttles had been brought in. Two were required to carry the Empress' bodyguards, while the last carried the Empress herself and the Spectre. As was typical of Asari diplomacy, they sought to impress the would-be Citadel race with a display of grandeur and wealth, flying low over the richer section of the upper Presidium, where vast parklands and lakes lined paths that wove about the numerous apartments that lay on either side of the Presidium ring's central parkland.

'Is there a reason, Spectre T'Valis,' Valeria whispered to her in a low voice, 'That there exists no traffic within a station of this size? That there would be hundreds of security officers, all of whom appear to be combing every square inch of parkland and building? It seems to me as though there is suspicion that there would be an attack upon this station. I do hope that you have not spoken ill of my Empire, Spectre,'

'Not at all, your Majesty. I haven't been able to contact the Spectre office through my Omni-tool,'

She fixed the Asari with a piercing glare briefly, before turning her eyes towards the towering structure before her, a needle of white against the vast blackness of space.

* * *

_Citadel, Widow Nebula. Citadel Council Chamber, 1200 hours, Galactic Standard Time. _

Councilor Tevos looked to her left. The Turian, Salarian and human councilors all stood behind their podiums, each dressed immaculately for this meeting. For the sake of safety, the Turian councilor had recommended that the Batarian envoy be ordered to remain within his office for the day. They were not blind to the terrible enmity that existed between this new race, and that of the Batarians; one that had only been made more apparent after Councilor Anderson had viewed the videos of the brief - albeit brutally efficient - assault on Lorek.

Still, it struck Tevos as odd that a race would go so readily to war over such a small matter as the enslavement of colonists. Thousands of other Citadel races' members had been captured by Batarian slaver rings, but it had been deemed far too costly to pursue a retributory war against the Hegemony. Thus, the Hegemony's slavers remained unpunished, as the Batarian government insisted its stance on slavery remained unchanged, and that the Council harboured prejudicial dislike of Batarian culture as far as slavery was concerned.

The doors to the Council chambers opened with a grind, and six Turian guardsmen rushed out, forming a line on either side of the pathway to the central podium. Behind them followed a squad of half a dozen other robed figures, whom Tevos assumed were the Empress' bodyguards. She had been informed by C-Sec that they were clean and possessed no weapons. However, she was certain that a faint aura, similar to that of biotics, hung about each and every one of the Empress' guards.

Last to arrive was the Empress, bedecked in an ornate black robe trimmed and embroidered with silver thread, like the others. Tevos raised an eyebrow curiously as she observed the Empress' movements; levitating, without the telltale blue glow of biotics.

Tevos nodded to her colleagues, as the Empress assumed her position in the centre of the podium, listening intently to what they had to say.

'Welcome to the Citadel Council chambers. I am Councilor Tevos, representing the Asari Republics,'

'And I am Councilor Sparatus, of the Turian Hierarchy,' said Sparatus, his flanging voice echoing in the otherwise-silent room.

'I'm Councilor David Anderson, representing the Systems Alliance,'

The Empress flicked her tail to one side, surveying each of the councilors with a critical eye.

'I am Valeria Septim, Empress of the Nirnian Empire. Well met, councilors,'

The _Destiny Ascension_ drifted past the vast window behind the councilors, reinforcing what Tevos believed was the Council's authority in space. The new species seemed to be capable of constructing vast fleets and ships of unknown capabilities; and if the Spectres' reports were right, space-based energy weapons of some sort. No doubt the Turians would demand access to these weapons for their own fleets, and the Salarians would request that their research teams be allowed to enter this Nirnian Empire; however, at present, she needed to play the part of a skilful diplomat, to manipulate this new confederation of races into joining the Citadel.

'On behalf of the Citadel, I bid you welcome, Empress Septim. I have heard of your citizens' plight regarding slavery, and the Asari Republics extends its condolences. We condemn the actions of these slavers, and I would hope that your citizens would eventually be liberated,'

The Empress flattened her ears and hissed back an angry reply, 'You are indeed aware of these cowardly Batarians' actions, and condemn them. To _hope_ that my citizens would _eventually_ be liberated is an affront to my honour and that of my Legions' own!'

'I meant no offense, Empress,' Tevos said smoothly, forcing her to face remain impassive, 'As it stands, our position with the Batarians remains tenuous; yet we cannot openly go to war, as that would require approval from the trillions of citizens under Citadel rule,'

'And your citizens would prefer that? Ah, but I speak out of line,' Valeria spoke, her ears flicking upright again, though her eyes were still narrowed, 'I speak out of turn. How your citizens behave is none of my concern, and not my citizens' concern either,'

'That much is true, Empress. How we govern ourselves, is currently irrelevant to yourself or your Empire. However, we would like you to consider the wealth of our cities. I have no doubt that you have witnessed the grand cities we have erected within this ancient station. There are hundreds of thousands of other cities, scattered across the thousands of planets that comprise the Citadel Races' collective lands, all benefiting from the vast trade networks across the Citadel,'

'Information is also available to Citadel races. Research, medicine, existing technologies. The possibilities are limitless,' Councilor Valern added, 'These would benefit your citizens, and by extension your Empire - and the Citadel races as well, when your contributions are added to the databanks in our archives,'

'A grand image indeed, councilors. But I have dealt with many merchants in my time, and none would offer such benefits without demanding an equally great cost,' Valeria spoke, holding up her hand, 'I would assume that there is always some demand to meet, or some price exacted, if I were to accept?'

'The Citadel peacekeeping force would patrol your borders. However, at the same time, we require all Citadel races to abide by the Treaty of Farixen,' rumbled Sparatus, 'As well as several other treaties regarding military force limitations, and a formal declaration of territorial limits. Even if you were not to join the Citadel in full, I believe there had been a precedent set during the Batarian disputes that disallows non-Citadel races access to Citadel trade networks, should they go against limits stipulated by this Treaty,'

'In addition, your research facilities are to be opened for Citadel use, in exchange for Citadel technologies to be provided to your Empire's citizens. Citadel civilians are also to be permitted to apply for citizenship within your Empire, if they so choose; the reverse is also true. Furthermore, you may not forbid your civilians from migrating to and from the Citadel,'

'Interesting indeed. So you demand that I open my research facilities to Citadel scholars, such that they are permitted to come and go as they please? And limits upon my own fleet, as though my Empire were a subservient nation under the yoke of the Council? I should certainly think not, councilors. This is hardly a fair exchange,'

'Please consider it, Empress Septim. You will still have control over your Empire. You would still have control over your fleets, and you would have the Citadel peacekeeping forces to help maintain your colonies' security. Your citizens would benefit from vastly increased trade, and the vast archives of information we have would assist your ministers, without a doubt,'

'The slavers had still managed to capture your citizens. Prevention is not a cure, councilor. Destruction of the perpetrator is, however, permanent. Still, to have more ships present for mutual defense...'

Valeria exhaled slowly, massaging her temples.

'Enlighten me about the Treaty of Farixen,' she growled, 'If it is not too severe a restriction, I _may_ consider this...option,'

Sparatus pulled up his Omni-tool, pulling up a document containing the abridged version of the full Treaty of Farixen.

'Turians, as the primary peacekeeping force in Citadel-controlled space, are entitled to build any number of dreadnoughts as they deem necessary for the maintenance of peace and security. Asari and Salarian fleets, being of equal import in the governance of the good people of the Citadel, are permitted to maintain three dreadnoughts for every five that the Turians have constructed. All other races, subject to Citadel rulings and under Citadel protection, may build no more than one dreadnought for every five that the Turians have constructed,'

'And may I ask, what _is_ the definition of a dreadnought?'

Tevos cast a sideways glance at the Turian councilor, who likewise looked at her for approval; she nodded, hoping that the terms were not too severe. Negotiations hadn't gone to plan, as this new confederation was highly militarised. Even the lure of economic riches had not been sufficient to convince them to lay down their arms and join the Citadel as a client set of races.

'Dreadnoughts are all vessels which are at least half a mile long, and possess a single axially-mounted cannon of comparable length,'

'And what do you propose, if we had exceeded said limits? Do elaborate on how many we are exactly permitted to build, _if_ I were to agree to these clearly restrictive rulings,'

'Turians currently possess thirty-seven dreadnoughts. By the Treaty of Farixen, this means that any client races are to possess no more than seven dreadnoughts each. As for what we shall do with excess dreadnoughts-'

'_No,'_ the Empress spoke; her voice was reverberating in the hall now, and the podiums behind which the councilors stood shook slightly, 'You will _not_ even consider decommissioning them. Perhaps you do not understand; the ships are more than a combat vessel. They are quite literally representative of the spirits of each Legion that had ever served the Empire. To order the destruction of a vessel is akin to the erasure of a single Legion from known memory. I will _never_ submit to such measures,'

'Surely we can-'

'_No,' _Valeria spoke; though her voice had only slightly raised, the fury and indignation with which the words were spoken had visibly shaken the room. 'There will be no negotiations on this. I will not be ordering the decommissioning of fifty-three dreadnoughts, along with the destruction of their collective soul-hearts. I will _not_ be the one that will consign the memories of those who had fallen to Oblivion,'

A silence fell over the room, broken only by a quiet sigh from the Empress.

'I apologise. Perhaps I did speak too harshly. I forget that your...space vessels...do not possess soul-hearts like ours does. To decommission a ship is to destroy every single man, woman and animal that had ever served in some capacity aboard a vessel. It is akin to killing the vessel itself,'

At this, Valern struck the table violently, causing everyone to stare at the Salarian.

'Are you telling me, Empress Septim, that your ships are controlled by _artificial intelligences_?' he shouted in disbelief, his eyes growing wide, 'Do you not-'

'Artificial intelligences? There are those Dwemeri automata, which I would hardly consider _intelligent_, and there are soul-hearts. It is insulting that you would even _say_ that these soul-hearts are artificial. These were men, women, and creatures, all of whom had served aboard these vessels. Yet in their undying loyalty to the people of the Nirnian Empire, they had chosen to serve eternally as part of the collective spirit of the ship,'

'The soul is an unproven entity. We do not know it even exists in anything,'

'Perhaps, councilor, when - and _if - _I were ever to permit you to step foot inside the Imperial City's Arcane University, I would allow you to attend a class on Arcana. Perhaps on that day I shall teach, if for a day, to demonstrate that the soul _is_ real, and that it possesses power. But that is for another time,'

'Enough,' Councilor Anderson barked; both Valern and Valeria glared at him, having been denied the chance to escalate their arguments, 'We aren't here to discuss the specifics on that. What we know is that the Empire is reluctant to disband their dreadnoughts, and with good reason. How much did it cost the Turians to construct their own dreadnoughts? If you, Sparatus, or you, Valern, were instructed to destroy as many as you have just demanded the Nirnian Empire disband, I would wager my annual salary that you would refuse, mainly because your own nations would be brought to their knees paying off their debts,'

The Turian and the Salarian glared at the human briefly, before focusing once more on the cat in the centre of the podium semicircle.

'And then, there is the matter of finances. Thank you, Councilor Anderson, but I shall represent my own nation. It will not do to have another defend its honour; however, I do thank you for your efforts,'

'Perhaps...we could come to a compromise?' Tevos asked, tapping a few calculations into her Omni-tool, 'If what they have said about these ships being...living creatures...is true, then to destroy them would be mass murder. I would suggest instead to prevent the construction of additional dreadnoughts on their part. Until such time, of course, that the Turians would build enough so that more would be permissible according to the aforementioned limits,'

The Empress paused for a moment. Her features resumed a stoic expression, before shaking her head in disapproval.

'I do not think these are acceptable terms. We are, after all, another sovereign power in the galaxy. A mutual defence agreement could work in the favour of both of our confederations; however, reducing our fleet sizes merely to conform with the regulations of the other is unacceptable. It would weaken our borders to external attack, as had happened already upon one of our planets. It saddens me that such measures should be necessary, given that neither my nation nor the Citadel has done each other harm. However, what can the Council offer, if they were to control the way our shipyards operate? Those vessel-crafters will require recompense for the damages you have caused to their livelihoods,'

'Access to the Citadel's trade networks. There are thousands of worlds available for them to trade with. No doubt your nation would have something to offer,'

'And I assume that my nation's trade guilds are permitted to conduct business on all such worlds?'

'They would be free to do so, yes, pending approval from local authorities and each individual nation's rulings. They would be subject to local taxation as well, levied by the authority present on any particular planet. The same must naturally apply to any Citadel trader functioning upon any Imperial world,'

'I see. These are far from sufficient, councilors. I do not see an issue with co-existing peacefully alongside the nations of the Citadel races. However, I do not appreciate being constrained by laws enacted by other realms, especially if it would threaten my sovereignty, or if it would threaten the security and prosperity of my peoples. As much as trade agreements would be beneficial to my economy, the cost is far too great. I must refuse. Now, as for the matter of the Batarian Hegemony...'

The councilors shifted uncomfortably in their seats, except for Councilor Anderson, who remained completely still as he regarded the Empress' next words.

'I will _not, _under _any_ circumstances, settle for less than either the complete and total annihilation of the Batarian Hegemony, or the return of every single one of the captured citizens of my Empire,'

'Let's be reasonable,' Tevos said quickly, 'Surely there are better options than war. The Batarians have an envoy on this station. Perhaps you could come to an understanding with them?'

'I have been an Empress for nearly seventeen hundred years, Councilor Tevos. I do not know how it is with the rest of the Citadel races, but as a representative of your nation, surely by now you would understand that the loyalty of any ruler is to the citizens of his or her own realm. You would suggest that I neglect the collection of the weregild due to the widows of the fallen, to retrieve their sons and daughters taken from them by these slavers? What of your own, seventy thousand of which we had plucked from slavery?'

'We understand your pain, Empress, but to go to war over this is folly. What would you gain from this? A few planets, and your citizens' return, perhaps; at the cost of millions of your dead. Is it truly worth the cost? We could pay the Batarians for their safe return,'

She fixed Tevos with an icy glare, before snarling out her reply.

'I and my citizens would rest peacefully knowing that the Batarian menace would be destroyed once and forevermore, _without_ resorting to placating their avarice with gold. What would they do, once that gold has been spent? They would once again seek that does not rightly belong to them,'

'If you persist along these lines, Empress Septim, I am afraid the Asari Republics, nor any of the Citadel races, may offer you assistance. The risks are simply too great, and to start a war will certainly lead to economic ruin in these times. I will wish you luck with retrieving your citizens, but that is, I am afraid, as far as our support may extend,'

'The Turian Hierarchy will likewise offer no assistance. Especially to a nation outside Citadel regulations. Your refusal of the Treaty of Farixen is noted, Empress, and the Turian Hierarchy will not come to the assistance of those who refuse to acknowledge the authority of the Council,'

'Very well,' the Khajiit growled, 'I will pursue this matter on my own. I do believe that I am obliged to inform you that there are seventy thousand Citadel civilians interned upon Imperial colonies, as per the Empire's obligations to treat liberated noncombatants in war. They shall be treated well, and you may collect them when a mutual...understanding...between our nations is achieved,'

'It is unfortunate indeed that we could not come to a conclusion favourable to either side today, but perhaps in the future we may negotiate an alternative,'

'That it truly is, Councilor Tevos. However, I do believe I can safely say that the Empire harbours no ill-will towards the Citadel, unless an agent of the Citadel would display hostile intentions and act upon them. I believe we may at least conclude that a state of neutrality exists between our nations,'

The councilors looked at each other. Sparatus nodded to Tevos; the Turian fleet had been decimated in the Battle for the Citadel, shredded to pieces by the Geth and Sovereign. Likewise, the Asari fleet had also suffered extensive damage; and the Human fleet had sustained even heavier losses in saving the Council and the _Destiny Ascension_ from destruction. Peace was the best option available.

'I...think we can agree on that,' Sparatus rumbled, a tinge of annoyance colouring his voice. In better times, he would have crushed these upstarts with the Hierarchy's might, to bring them into the Citadel's fold as a set of client races under the Turians. However, this was as good a result as he was capable of achieving.

'I agree with Councilor Sparatus. Well, if we are embracing the Empire as a neutral sovereign nation, then we must conclude some rules regulating space travel for our respective fleets, so that no movements could be misinterpreted as a hostile action,'

'Very well. I will not move my fleets within one relay jump of any Citadel race's world. Does that satisfy your needs?'

'No military vessels within two jumps. I believe that is more than fair,' Valern added, putting away his Omni-tool.

'That is still a fair concession. I assume that the Council shall likewise abide by these restrictions, in relation to Imperial worlds?'

'That is correct,'

'Very good. I believe that no agreements are truly achieved until both sides have together signed and sealed a contract. Do you have such a document available, councilors?'

Tevos shuffled through the various datapads before her. Each was related to a new nation joining the Citadel, either under the banner of an existing nation, or under their own if they were sufficiently large. None had ever existed, as no nation had ever outright refused Citadel membership; all had been wooed by the vast material wealth and trade within Citadel space. Still, a binding declaration was not impossible to draw up, especially with so few terms.

So few terms. Tevos smiled inwardly; a lack of terms meant freedom.

And freedom meant manipulation by fine print.

A/N:

NOTE: REWRITTEN. Original diplomatic scenes had severe flaws, which were overlooked. Rewritten to better represent the Imperial stance towards freedom.

I hate writing diplomatic scenes. But it wouldn't do to have a new nation enter the galactic stage without the Citadel noticing, after all.

There will be more conflict ahead, and many more delicious tears of grief from all sides *offers everyone a strawberry torte, and invites Sheogorath for tea. Mephala can come too.*

173 follows and 138 favorites. I'm truly humbled by the amount of support, considering that this fanfic is actually quite recent. I'll be sure to continue this until it is completed; however, updates may be sporadic throughout the rest of this year as work keeps piling up :(

mjonar2

Good job at decoding the draconic, but it's not quite right:

Ziil gro dovah ulse - soul(s) bound dragon [for] eternity - Your souls belong to me forever

The others are correct. Well done ^^.


	8. 08 - Galactic Diplomacy, Part 2

_Kynareth's Bounty, Mundus. 0545 hours, Galactic Standard Time. _

Salvius could not believe his luck when the aliens had broken through the Batarian lines in a single devastating blow. Thinking it were a Turian assault, he was shocked to discover that his rescuers were not Turian as he had believed - but a collection of other races. Some of whom, like the lizard-man that had rescued him, appeared closer to digitigrade animals than they were people; yet others almost resembled humans.

No doubt he had made a fool of himself, judging by the strange looks the wardens had been giving him. He had reacted badly when one human-like alien with pointed ears conjured some strange golden-white biotic aura around his hands. Thinking it an attack, he wrestled free from the giant green brute that had held him fast. Spirits, all the training in Palaven did not prepare him for breaking free of a Krogan-like grip; he had barely shifted an inch before he realised the golden biotics were _healing_ him, not tearing him to pieces.

Still, he had to be thankful that they had broken him free before he was to be shipped to Khar'Shan. He'd heard stories; stories that the healthiest slaves were to be sold to the highest bidder in the prime slave markets upon the Batarians' home city, often being trained to be no more than porters and arena fighters. Other uses were far less...wholesome, and it made his stomach churn to even consider what the prettiest females would be subjected to in those markets.

'Can't sleep, eh?' the warden grunted, 'Can't blame you. Kynareth's Bounty's a lush green planet, don't get me wrong; but this sticky, hot weather always rubs me the wrong way,'

It still amazed Salvius to no end how key prison guards were given these..._rings..._that gave each of them the ability to speak to any Citadel species, without the awkward mistranslations that Omni-tool translators were infamous for. From what he had heard, each was created by one 'Arcane University', wherever that would be. If the Asari next to him onboard the shuttle to this camp was not delusional, she heard the green, hulking man speak in perfectly fluent Asari, while he heard the voice of an unmistakably Palavenian man, albeit without the subvocals that all the Turians utilised in speech.

'Listen, you'd better get a rest. You've been through a lot, and the Empress says that until your...Council...decides to send a few ships to pick you up, you'll all be earning your keep. Now, I don't mind interns waking up earlier and all that, but you're going to be doing a lot of work today,'

Salvius nodded to the warden, who simply walked on, checking each set of cots for any rescued slave that had gone away. Though the spacious rooms were not even locked, perhaps these aliens did not wish any of them to escape either. It puzzled the old veteran to no end that they would be detained, and yet be well-treated; a table in the centre of the block of rooms was kept periodically restocked with wholesome, delicious-smelling food and drink, though he could not consume any of what they had provided owing to his biology. He contented himself with one of the packs of dextro-rations that they had piled up at one end of the table.

'Okay, so you're not sleepy, or tired. Looks like you're a military man, then,' the warden chuckled, sitting down next to him. The bench shifted slightly under the man's weight, 'What's your name. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other, you and I, and all the other interns here. Been a while since I've been told to watch over people that aren't criminals,'

'Salvius. Marcus Salvius,' the Turian replied, swallowing a mouthful, 'Where is this?'

'Well, for one, it's the breadbasket of the Empire. Fowl, meat, vegetables, fruit - you name it, it's here. You're on Kynareth's Bounty, Sal, and there's no better place to be if you're going to get to work. Better here than on Ardour's Reach, I heard; place got torched to the ground by a Batarian slaving raid,'

'That's something not unusual in the Terminus Systems. If I may ask, warden, what is your name. It would be very awkward indeed if I were to speak to you by your title,'

'Bors gro-Radagash. Anyway, as I was saying - it's probably a good thing that you weren't one of those Batarian scoundrels. Word from the Imperial City is, the Empress was so furious that her angry shout broke every window in a hundred feet around her,'

'That has got to be the most ludicrous tale that I have heard,'

The warden fixed an incredulous eye on him, and then shrugged.

'Well, don't say I didn't warn you, if you ever get on the Empress' bad side. Her shouting can melt steel, or freeze things solid, depending on who you talk to. Now, I have rounds to make. Keep your nose clean, and we'll be getting along just fine,'

Salvius' mandibles splayed out in disbelief. Either this Bors was completely mad, or this Empress was the most flamboyant biotic he had ever heard of. Surely someone's _breath_ could never that bad; even after he had eaten the most pungent peppers from Palaveni farms, his wife could still stand his breath without flinching from its undoubtedly burning heat.

* * *

_Kynareth's Bounty, Mundus. 0830 hours, Galactic Standard Time_.

A loud bell roused every single one of the ex-slaves awake. Karin had never been one for waking early; and though her three years as a Batarian's housemaid and porter had beaten some of the habit out of her, the comfortable mattress had helped to settle her back into her old routine of sleeping till high noon.

Everywhere she looked, sleepy people of all races were climbing slowly from their cots, yawning and walking towards the table of food in the centre of the room. Bowls of piping-hot porridge lay before each bench, while a feminine...lizard? served the meals at the end of the table.

'Come on, we know you're tired and all from all the sleep, but we've got work to do today. Your stipends aren't going to earn themselves!' she shouted, banging her spoon against the cauldron-like pot in front of her, 'Eat up, we've got a long day ahead of us,'

She picked up a bowl of the rather thick gruel. Though it was an off-white, with pieces of purplish-white fruit in it, the smell resembled that of Asari honey mixed in with a generous helping of spices and a particularly strong cheese, though it was not unpleasant. Tentatively, she swallowed a small amount, grimacing as the intense sweetness of the food burned itself on her tongue - or perhaps it was her former slave-master's fault for that; she had not tasted sugar in a good five years.

And then she realised that there was probably more to the meal than she had initially thought. Gone were all the pains in her muscles, replaced by an overwhelming surge of power, as though she could lift a mountain and still be able to run three miles with it on her back. Gone was her early morning stupor, replaced by alertness that she had never felt in years.

Looking around, she realised that she had not been the only ex-slave affected by the meal. Asari all about her seemed to jolt awake, and view their meals with suspicion, while the Turians simply tilted their heads in confusion.

'Relax, we're not poisoning you. What, you haven't eaten Elsweyr fondue before? I'd have figured it popular on the fleet, what with that many Khajiit onboard. I threw in some alocasia fruit as well for a nice little energy boost,' the lizard-woman said, shaking in an effort to stop her laughter, 'Eat up, you all. You'll need that energy. Oh, Warden Gro-Radagash. Is there something you need?'

'Yes, Hides-Her-Tail, there is something I need to say to the interns,'

The large green...brute...turned towards the table, and flashed the interns a broad, toothy, _fanged_ smile. If it were not for the fact that they had treated her well, Karin swore she would have jumped. He was almost Krogan in size and shape, and scarred like one to boot.

'I welcome you all to Camp Yahkem, on the planet of Kynareth's Bounty. Now, this camp is usually filled with prisoners who require a _little_ correction in their ways, but I don't think that's necessary with you. First of all, a few ground rules. You'll need to earn your keep to stay here. There's plenty of work to be done in the fields surrounding this camp, and each of the head farmers have been given a Ring of Translation. Speak to them for instructions,'

'Secondly, you are _not_ prisoners. Nor are you slaves. You will be given a stipend for your work daily, paid in Imperial Septims from Imperial coffers. You may spend these as you see fit through the camp's quartermaster, who is my aide Hides-Her-Tail here. I'd love to be able to say that you're free to wander about town once your work hours are over and all, but the Empress' orders are to keep you all here until this Citadel comes to collect you all, and you'll be free to go home then. You'll be given thirty-five septims and fifty coppers for every hour of good, solid work you perform here, to spend as you wish,'

'Thirdly; do try to keep the peace. It would be a shame if we couldn't remain friends, just because of some minor incident that requires more than a little correction. That is all. Enjoy your day,'

Murmurs spread throughout the gathered interns. They were being paid for work, and were free to spend it however they liked? This was turning out much better, Karin thought. Maybe she could buy some drinks with the pay tonight, in celebration of their new-found (almost) freedom.

* * *

_Kynareth's Bounty, Mundus. 1630 hours, Galactic Standard Time. _

The day in the field was...eventful, the way Salvius saw it. The 'fields' turned out to be a sprawling domain of rows and rows of plants, some flowering, some fruiting, and others simply red, itchy, and thorny. Giant mushrooms seemed to spring out of the moist earth, providing the workers with some shade; and a damp, thin covering of moss coated whatever ground was not shadowed by mushrooms. Some plants had some rats the size of small varren beneath them, for which thankfully they had been each issued with a dagger made out of some strange brownish-yellow metal. It was good that the Hierarchy's training had given them some close-combat training, albeit with Omni-blades and not physical weapons; nevertheless, the method of combat was almost the same.

These 'skeevers' as the Imperials called them seemed to be a persistent plague in their farming colonies, from what he had heard. Chewing anything they saw, killing an unwitting animal or two, or even the occasional farmer if they were numerous enough. The farmers had given them warnings about these vermin, and the more timid and cautious among the Asari and humans had banded together for safety - and company - working in groups of six or seven behind the enormous harvester machines that they were being trained to use.

He turned his work hours in to the warden, who was smiling widely as he counted out the coins for the day's work.

'I assume these...coins are each a Septim?' Salvius asked him, picking up the small sack of coins, 'Seems rather odd that you have datapads, and yet, would still use coins for trade,'

'Not quite. Septims come in different values these days, usually in multiples of five. And as for your other question, dataslate currency is not widely accepted yet, especially on newly settled planets. Don't ask me why; I wouldn't know why those thick-headed merchants won't get along with dataslates. Seems to me like they just like sleeping on a bed made of coins. Complete waste of metal, I'd say,'

'I see. So where's...the quartermaster?'

'She's down the hall, probably preparing another meal for you all. Gods know what I would do without her. Keeps the place clean, cooks, fixes things; she's almost like a wife away from home,'

Trying not to think about what a green-skinned brute's wife would look like, Salvius thanked the quartermaster for his time and turned away. The seats and benches around the camp's main room were all occupied with worn-out ex-slaves, some of them bloodied from when a skeever had bitten them. But a sizeable line had formed in front of the lizard-woman, who was busily tapping away into a dataslate as she counted out coins and packed them into a box at her side.

'I'm sorry, but I cannot release those for your purposes. Direct order from high command,' she said to an Asari, 'Restricted material, I'm told. Can't figure out why,'

'But it's a book on _healing_. It can't be harmful,'

'Again, I don't see a problem with it - but I can't defy Elder Council decrees either. I'm sorry. If there's nothing more that you need, next please!'

Salvius shook his head at the sight of the line. At the rate they were going, it would be hours before he would even get to ask about what he could purchase. Spying a Turian woman on the table nearest to him, he promptly sat down next to her. Perhaps a few rounds of drinks, a few choice words, and he would get to settle some tensions later tonight. There was much he needed to get off his chest, especially after a month of being imprisoned by Batarians.

* * *

_Wrath of Talos, Widow Nebula. 1800 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'No, that's not what I said. Rewrite it again, and this time, make _sure_ that equality is in every single word,' the Empress growled to the team of legal scholars gathered in the Aetherial Hall. Cups of steaming soup lay near each man, who had been feverishly working on the formal declaration of neutrality between the Council and the Empire since the early hours of the morning. It had been two weeks since the initial meeting, and the Council had granted the flagship permission to remain in Citadel orbit, albeit within sight of the _Destiny Ascension _at all times.

Though Tevos had forwarded her a copy of a treaty that the Asari seemed to think 'equitable' and 'fair', the Empress had voiced her displeasure with it in no uncertain terms, prompting the Asari to request for a version that she believed would be fairer towards the Empire. Valeria fumed at the mere thought of the humiliating original version - to think that the Asari wretch would even _consider_ the subjection of her citizens to Council whims, if it were for 'the greater good'! It would constitute almost _anything_, and most likely that which benefits the Council most. There were dozens of other such clauses within the documents provided, each with a method of bending Imperial resources for the good of the Citadel races alone.

'Ensure that we still retain complete autonomy within our realm, and they will have theirs within their realm,' Valeria barked, pacing about at the head of the table, 'And I will not submit to their demands that we 'offer any resources useful for the advancement of security in both realms'. What I have would not advance security in our own, but may improve theirs. I will _not_ have an unequal exchange. Redouble your efforts!'

'Yes, milady,' they droned, poring over the numerous dataslates that they had been provided. Fortis had been kind enough to scour the Citadel's extranet and unclassified archives for any precedents which may assist the Empress. The results were staggeringly successful, the soul-heart having been able to compress it in no less than five hundred dataslates, all of which had been piled unceremoniously onto the table inside the Hall.

It disgusted Valeria to no end that these Council representatives were all too willing to assert their self-assumed authority over the rest of the galaxy. Vainglorious, pompous and prideful, Councilor Tevos in particular reminded her of the Aldmeri Dominion's leaders, who declared their racial superiority even as their cities burned about them. Her immaculate presentation and air of arrogance did not help with dispelling that image, and the way the councilor's words seemed to treat her own fellow councilors as immature, petulant children merely worsened the Empress' image of the Asari. Shivering, she prayed to Talos that such similarities were mere coincidences, and would never translate to reality; and that not all of the Asari were such arrogant fools.

Fortunately, not all the others were equally as loathsome. The humans and Turians in particular were tolerable, if not outright likeable. The Turians seemed to possess a sense of duty that only the staunchest of Imperials could rival; the humans, being the most recent addition to the Council, even showed support for the Empire, albeit in a series of discreet messages for the Empress from the councilor himself.

'What is this madness about 'mutually beneficial exchange of technology'. I shall demand Tevos clarify her intentions on this,' Valeria growled. No doubt the section had been inserted at the behest of the Salarian councilor, who had shown a decidedly unhealthy interest in the workings of the magickal cannons that they had utilised to blast the Batarian base to pieces.

'I will have you work for another hour, and then retire for the night. We will resume this work tomorrow until it is completed. That is all; I must return to the helm, so that I may instruct the other fleets of their current orders. Julianos help us all,'

Rubbing her head as she walked towards the levitation column to the bridge, she contemplated the wisdom of entering this neutrality pact with the Citadel. True, it would permit some sanctioned merchants of hers to trade with the Citadel, to tap the vast markets fed by the trillions of people under Citadel rule. However, it was also equally true that the Citadel races could attempt to spy on her peoples, or even smuggle contraband across the borders. Worse yet, it could allow the Citadel to exert more control over her people through trading sanctions. It could even threaten their security by forcing more of her fleets to remain near tuning-gates as defensive turrets, leaving the colonies less defended than before.

'Your Majesty, we have a message intercepted from...a Batarian envoy,' Fortis boomed from the bridge's communicator, 'I assume you would not appreciate reading it, as its words are truly poorly chosen for a diplomatic message. The core of the message, however, is that the Hegemony feels...extreme displeasure...at your presence on the Citadel, and would be compelled to act appropriately should you set foot there again, even if you were invited by the Council,'

'Thank you, Fortis. I would return them the favour, if they even possessed the courage to act upon their claims,'

She grinned wickedly, baring her filed-down fangs. The assurance of Council non-involvement in the Batarian-Empire conflict was truly a glorious concession the Council had made; one that she would gladly accept.

* * *

_Omega, Sahrabarik System. Afterlife, Omega, 1800 hours, Standard Galactic Time._

'So you're telling me that the Blue Suns, Eclipse and the Blood Pack have all banded together?' the Asari spoke, reclining on her couch overlooking the Afterlife club.

Aria T'Loak, the Queen of Omega, frowned as she thought about this new situation that her bodyguard had brought. Normally, the mercenary groups would be at each other's throats as often as they would be out gathering protection money and marketing contraband. To have them work together was almost unheard of - especially a second time in such a short period of time.

The first time they had banded together was to dispose of Archangel, which the rest of Omega believed had been accomplished when footage of a rocket smashing into the Turian's face circulated among the mercenary groups. They had returned to their turf wars soon after, engulfing the lower levels of Omega in typical chaotic violence. But something else had spooked the three mercenary groups to action, and she intended to find out.

'Grizz. Get the leaders of the Blue Suns, Eclipse and the Blood Pack to me by midnight. I don't care how you do it. Go!'

The Turian nodded and walked away, beckoning to a number of Batarian henchmen to follow him. As he did so, Aria turned towards the Afterlife's dance floor. The lurid glow of the neon lights, the pole dancers, the strippers, the booze and the drugs; what lay before her was the summary of all that existed in Omega. A haven of debauched pleasure. Her haven of debauched pleasure. Her Omega.

And nobody was going to do anything stupid when she had an interest in it.

'This just in, from Alliance News Network,' the radio closest to her announced, 'After two gruelling weeks of intense negotiations, the newly discovered Nirnian Empire has rejected Citadel offers for membership, citing the Treaty of Farixen as an unacceptable restraint. Further talks are on the table, with the Council seemingly reluctant to let the Empire go on its own way. The Asari Republics' spokesperson has stated the Council is still willing to negotiate terms with the Empire, but is unwilling to withdraw its requirement that the Treaty of Farixen be adhered to. Other Council spokespersons have refused to comment,'

The Empire. She'd heard rumours circulating about them within the gangs of Omega. Some said that they were after territory in the Terminus Systems. Some said they were out to destroy the gangs. And quite a few had said that the Empire were merciless savages.

Whatever the case, she'd heard about the razing of Lorek. It was impossible to not notice an entire colony go dark; and in lawless Omega, doubly so. The sudden disappearance of traffic from the Fathar system was a hint, as was the steady trickle of nearly-crippled vessels emerging a week later to try and get repairs at Omega, mostly Blue Suns frigates and corvettes. The whispers of fear circulated like nothing else on the station, and within another week of the initial razing of Lorek, they had managed to sneak in an unmanned probe into the system to check on whatever had happened. The probe had never reported back.

She didn't quite trust the Blue Suns' intel, but the way in which they were stocking on military-grade hardware showed that there was at least some truth to what she had been hearing. If the Blue Suns and the Eclipse could not break the Batarian Hegemony's hold on Lorek for years, and these newcomers had shattered the Hegemony's grip on Lorek, then this Empire was very powerful.

And she did not like anyone being that powerful, that close to Omega.

Except, of course, if it were herself.

* * *

_Widow Nebula, Citadel. Council Chambers, 1200 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

'...There would be many details left to be evaluated in terms of trade agreements. However, are we in agreement that trading relations are important between the Citadel and the Empire?'

As the Salarian finished speaking, Tevos could feel the strain of trying to maintain an impassive face. The other councilors had voted against her decision to enforce the Treaty of Farixen upon these newcomers, opting for a modified condition that stated that they were not to build any more dreadnoughts, but were also not bound to decommission any existing dreadnoughts. At this, the Empress seemed to visibly relax, even letting a small smile creep onto her face.

Sparatus had messaged Tevos prior to the meeting that should they engage in open war, the result - and the costs - would be disastrous on both sides. It was in their interests that peace was maintained, or even limited cooperation. Likewise, Anderson argued that the Empire would provide a buffer zone for human settlement in the Attican Traverse, and therefore would be more valuable as an ally than as a disinterested neutral or hostile party. Granted, the Empire's sphere of influence seemed to be limited to the Terminus Systems and the far side of the Attican Traverse, bordering on Systems Alliance space; if any fighting was to break out, it would undoubtedly affect the Alliance severely.

'Indeed. There would be many agreements yet to be made in relation to trade. However, it would perhaps be best handled by the Imperial Tribune of the Trade Guilds,' the cat-woman rasped.

'So, these are the terms set forth by the Empire-Citadel Neutrality Pact,' Tevos said, reading from the datapad that they had each read many times over, 'The Empire shall respect the boundaries of each of the constituent nations of the Citadel, and its military forces shall not venture into the aforementioned spaces without prior written consent from a plenipotentiary from the respective Citadel race's nation. Likewise, the Citadel shall also respect the Empire's boundaries, and its own military forces shall not enter Imperial space without prior consent from the Empress. Failure to abide by these terms shall result in an indemnity payable to the violated party proportional to the magnitude of the breach,'

Valern then tapped several times on his Omni-tool, projecting a hologram of the galactic map. Upon it, the boundaries of each nation were marked; only the Systems Alliance shared a common border with the Empire, at approximately half the width of the Attican Traverse. The Empire's outermost colonies almost reached the Perseus Veil, bordering on Geth space.

Inwardly, Tevos smiled at the sight of that outermost border. Geth space was usually patrolled by Quarians, and sooner or later the Quarians would encounter the Empire's border patrols and be either destroyed or turned away. At any rate, they would provide a useful buffer against Quarian interests.

'The Empire and the Systems Alliance shall jointly maintain security of their borders on the following lines of the Attican Traverse. Ship movements within a zone of five light-years of this line, by either party, shall be considered normal, for the purposes of interdiction of criminal elements, and are not subject to the prior terms regarding fleet movements. Other than this, the Empire has no obligation to assist Citadel fleets, and vice versa,'

'The Empire shall agree to assist any vessels of Citadel races that are broadcasting a distress signal, to the best of their abilities. This shall be reciprocated in full by the Citadel. Where a ship is damaged sufficiently to be unsalvageable, their crewmen are to be treated humanely, pursuant to existing Citadel Conventions regarding matters of acceptable treatment of prisoners-of-war, marooned crewmen, and civilians,'

'The Empire shall allow up to one hundred thousand Citadel civilians to immigrate into Imperial space, subject to their laws and customs. The Citadel shall ensure, to the best of its abilities, that these civilians granted permission to emigrate to Imperial space are law-abiding citizens. By this token, any persons discovered by the Empire to be illegally immigrating into Imperial space may be punished to the maximum extent permissible by both Citadel Conventions and Imperial law, and vice versa,'

'Research facilities in the Empire are to remain closed to the Citadel, and the same shall also be true of Citadel research facilities to the Empire. Any exchange of technology shall be conducted with the permission of plenipotentiaries from both affected parties. As befits this restriction, trade shall not occur unless they are approved from their source nations to not contain any sensitive material which may be studied or reverse engineered by its destination. Any trade not involving restricted materials are subject to local customs. A full list of what is considered restricted is attached in the appendix,'

'Sovereignty shall be maintained by both parties, and neither party is bound to an agreement not contained within this document or that of its related documents. The Empire is not compelled to comply, ratify, or otherwise agree with Citadel Conventions, other than those included in the appendix at the end of this document. The Council is likewise not compelled to adhere to any rulings made in an Imperial court of law,'

'Furthermore, the Council shall agree to not interfere with the existing conflict between the Batarian Hegemony and the Nirnian Empire, in exchange for the Nirnian Empire's compliance regarding dreadnoughts as detailed in the revised document for the Treaty of Farixen. The Empire, as outlined in the Treaty, shall not build any additional dreadnoughts, but may retain any of its currently existing dreadnoughts. In addition, the Empire shall send any freedmen from the Battle of Lorek to the Citadel, should they choose to return. The remainder shall be subject to Her Majesty's rulings, and be considered Her Majesty's subjects,'

'Finally, any territorial gains made by the Empire at the expense of the Batarian Hegemony shall be retained by the Empire, provided that no Prothean archives are present upon them. If there exists a Prothean archive upon a world, then the Empire shall waive its rights to exclude Council researchers from entering Imperial territory, solely for the purposes of researching Prothean archives. In exchange, any information retrieved from the aforementioned archives, by either Imperial or Citadel researchers, is to be made available for both the Empire and the Citadel without any limitations. This shall be held applicable retroactively to any existing Prothean archive within either Citadel or Imperial territory, for the benefit of all,'

Inhaling as he completed the recitation of the remainder of the text body, the Salarian looked up at the Empress, who slowly nodded her approval. Anderson and Sparatus keyed in their approvals on their Omni-tools; and the Asari councilor entered her approval with a sigh.

'I certainly hope that our nations can coexist peacefully, Empress Septim,' Tevos said, nodding to her, 'Assuming that you have agreed to these terms, we have signed the document,'

Confusion flashed briefly across the Khajiit's face, before she regained her composure.

'I am truly baffled. The Citadel does not maintain a physical record of a treaty document?' she queried, tilting her head to one side, 'It does not matter. I shall provide you with a sign of my acceptance momentarily,'

Producing a small ingot of iron, Valeria grasped it tightly in her right hand, before creating a shining ball of green energy in her left. The Spectres in the room raised their pistols, ready to fire in the event that the Empress were to try to attack; however, they gaped in amazement as the dull black surface of the iron turned to shining silver, and then to gleaming gold. Drawing a black ebony seal from her robe, she looked up at the Council.

'It may be advisable to look away for a moment. This will be brighter than bright,' she said to them, before looking at the ingot in her hand once more, '_YOL...TOOR SHUL!'_

The surface of the gold ingot melted and rippled, levitated by magic. Had it not been for a shield one of her inquisitors dutifully projected on the floor, perhaps even the metallic floor would have melted in the intense flames of her shout. Firmly pressing the seal against the molten surface, she admired the detail that the craftsmen of old had put into creating such a small object. Every scale of the dragon upon the diamond-shaped seal, every tendril of flame from its mouth, every talon on its claw, were modelled beautifully, carved into the cold black ebony.

'_FO KRAH DIIN!' _she shouted at the circular relief in her hand, freezing it in a ball of ice. Scraping away loose pieces of ice with her claws, she levitated the completed seal towards the incredulous councilors.

'By my right as Empress, I deem these terms fair and acceptable, and the Empire shall accept this treaty. Until such time that this treaty is revised or dissolved, and for as long as the Council shall abide by these terms, then it shall be binding upon both myself and the Empire. I shall not violate these terms, on my honour; let this Imperial Seal be the proof of my approval,'

'And the Council has accepted these terms as fair and equitable. From this day onwards, this treaty will guide the relations between our nations. Now, if you please, Empress; the Council would like to extend an invitation for you and your delegation to enjoy lunch in the Upper Presidium, with the Council and the rest of the Citadel races' ambassadors,'

At the mention of a meal, the Empress visibly stiffened, and her ears flattened slightly, horrified. The expectant looks of the councilors indicated to her that they would not accept any answer except yes. Forcing herself to smile, she nodded, silently praying to Arkay that she would not go down with cramps for the rest of the month. Ordinary food did _not_ go down well with vampires.

'Is there something wrong, Empress Septim?'

'No, not at all. I am certain it would be a..._delightful_ affair indeed, councilors,'

* * *

_Widow Nebula, Citadel. Upper Presidium, 1330 hours, Galactic Standard Time._

Enjoying 'lunch' was an understatement. The Council had arranged for a banquet at a levo-dextro restaurant at the top of the Presidium ring, presumably to impress the Imperial delegation with their generosity. Or perhaps to awe them with the grand and commanding view that could be seen from the window that seemed to stretch from end to end of the hall, offering a view of the Presidium's most well-tended gardens, whose sprawling flower gardens seemed to stretch on for the whole breadth of the station.

After a soporific hour-long speech by the Elcor ambassador welcoming the newcomers to the broader galactic community, the army of waiters had begun to serve various dishes to each person present; odd metallic-blue strips of steak for Turians, and one of the numerous other Thessian dishes for all others. The Imperial inquisitors devoured most of what they had been given within the first ten minutes of the event, raising eyebrows among the Salarians and the Systems Alliance members. A few moments later, and each had a pile of empty plates beside them, with not a single morsel left. Only the Empress seemed to be eating very slowly, having only eaten half of her provided fruit salad.

'She really doesn't eat much, does she,' Asha remarked, eyeing Valeria's slow progress on the plate in front of her, 'I thought-'

The Spectre stared incredulously at the inquisitor beside her, who had managed to finish her sixth plate of sugary cheesecake, and raised her hand to indicate that she would like another. Looking around, it seemed that all of the Empress' robed inquisitors all behaved with all the half-starved ravenousness of a Krogan at a buffet - if a Krogan would _ever_ be allowed in a civilised buffet on Thessia. Only the single armored one beside the Empress drank and ate normal amounts, seemingly unperturbed by the strange display of hunger.

'By the Goddess, J'Bari. I thought you would have had enough by the sixth plate. A seventh one?'

'If Spectre T'Valis would like to share the cheesecake, this one is open to the idea,' she purred, after swallowing another mouthful of the sugary dessert, 'This one eats a lot because her spells are very draining,'

'Must be like biotic humans, then. They eat almost four ration bars a day. I can barely finish two and a half,'

'Others have blue-magic as well? This one is curious,'

Asha nodded, ticking off names on her fingers. 'Spectre Shepard, Lieutenant Alenko. Two of the most well-known human biotics in Citadel space. Then there are hundreds more from that Systems Alliance project, but the name's classified. So yes, others have blue-magic as well. Irissa next to you is a Turian cabalist infiltrator, as I recall,'

The hawk-like Turian next to them nodded, surveying the cat with a cold stare. Momentarily acknowledging them with a nod, the Turian continued to tear at her steak - with what could only be described as fury.

'Irissa still doesn't trust many people,' Asha sighed, 'Turians don't exactly trust biotics. I can't blame her either for being so...distant, these few days. Her last mission-'

'Is confidential,' the Turian growled, glaring at Asha, 'May I remind you, Spectre Asha, that Spectre business is not to be discussed with those unaffiliated with the Council. Let alone with those not even included in the Citadel. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a task to attend to. Good day,'

And the Turian stood up and marched away, leaving only a shimmer behind as she activated her cloaking field.

'This one wonders if the lizard-woman is touched by Sheogorath,' J'Bari remarked, putting aside a seventh empty plate of cake, 'Anger without cause is a sure sign of madness,'

The cat turned to face the glass window, admiring the beauty of the trees covered in purple flowers in the garden. Pink petals lay scattered on the glossy metal pathway, while an emerald carpet of grass lay on small mounds, decorated with statues of what she presumed were important figures in the history of the Citadel. The sunlight, though it was simulated, was warm; if she were not on duty, J'Bari would have _loved_ to curl up and take a nap on the grass.

It almost reminded her of home, on Kynareth's Bounty. Warm, green, and covered in soft meadow grass. It wasn't her house, of course, being rejected by her birth mother for possession of blue-magic; but being raised in an Imperial orphanage was better than being raised on the streets. She had been fortunate enough to have been born on the most laid-back of Imperial colony worlds, where orphans were few and far in between, and the people generally kind. Shuddering at the thought of what would have happened had she been born to work on one of the ebony mines in Ardour's Reach.

Those were for condemned traitors and murderers, whose bodies were forever flayed alive by airborne chunks of volcanic ash and rock, and whose minds were slowly worn away by the constant red lighting of the red dwarf in the sky, which seemed to paint everything in various shades of bloody crimson. The Empress had taken her to the Deadlands once, to obtain samples of harrada and bloodgrass; and after being sent once to inspect the mines, she could not distinguish the two, as though Mehrunes Dagon himself had a hand in their creation.

'Is something wrong?' Asha queried, noticing the Khajiit's grim smile.

'No, there is nothing that this one sees that is wrong in this room. This one has been thinking about what would fall on those that have wronged the Empire in the past. It is...unpleasant. Khajiit hopes that we can maintain a pleasant relationship with the Citadel in the days to come,'

* * *

_Kite's Nest, Harsa System. Hegemony Headquarters, Khar'Shan_

'President. We have accessed the Citadel's treaty records, and have found that the Citadel races support this new confederation's attack on our worlds,' a quavering voice spoke from a communications terminal; behind the terminal were two human slaves, whose legs were bound together by Omni-chains, bowing their heads in expectation of being struck.

The well-built Batarian gazed out of his office's window, puffing out another cloud of smoke from his cigar. Glaring at the comms terminal as he turned around, he snarled his reply.

'And you have failed to stop them? I had provided you with everything you would need. Money, weapons, soldiers, slaves- and yet, you have failed me, ambassador. Surely you understand what _I_ will do to those that fail to meet my expectations, hm?'

'Citadel Security had seized most of my weapons, and the security was too tight to perform an assassination. Our assassin was killed by a Spectre near the Presidium,' the Batarian man said, bowing low.

'There will be no excuses, worthless insect. You had given me assurance that this...adjustment...will go as planned. Which, as the cat is still alive, proves that you have _failed_ me,'

Forgive me, my lord. It will not happen again,'

'You are right. It will not happen again,' the president growled, putting out his cigar, 'I have given the orders to the fleet. If your ship returns to Batarian space, you _will _be shot down. If these damned slaves' masters return to reclaim them, you _will_ find yourself with much more than just these...Imperials...on your worthless backside. Do you understand me, ambassador?'

He nodded once, before the president of the Hegemony shut off the vidcomm terminal.

'After all, there are many more things that could be used to greater effect,' he hummed, grinning as he stroked the silver-plated datapad on his desk, signed with a Blue Suns emblem.

* * *

-CODEX ENTRIES-

-Codex: Empire-Citadel Neutrality Pact-

The Empire-Citadel Neutrality Pact was struck to ensure Council non-interference in the ongoing war against the Batarian Hegemony. Though limited trade and migration is permitted under the terms of the treaty, movement of both material and people to either side is regulated by both the Empire and the Citadel. Rights of companies planning to trade are negotiated on a case-by-case basis.

The Pact also outlines the distinct boundaries of each nation within the Citadel, as well as the extent of the Empire's current expansion, in a bid to minimise potential conflicts over settlement rights. Furthermore, it also outlines the modifications made to the Treaty of Farixen, to account for the Nirnian Empire's vast fleet of heavier ships.

- Codex: Ardour's Reach, Netherworld Mines -

Built deep inside the planet's perpetually burning crust, the Netherworld Mines are infamous throughout the Empire, the mention of which is likely to get even the most hardened thief to confess his crimes.

The mines are built well below ground, with a dense atmosphere heavy with sulphurous fumes, smoke, and light ash. Prisoners are provided with a scoop on a long shaft of dwarf-steel, with which they harvest the ebony-rich lava flows within the mine. There is little lighting inside the mines, except for the dim reddish glow of the lava itself, and introduced harrada plants often become deadly hazards for prisoners working in cramped tunnels, where a fall could mean potential incineration in molten rock.

When the Batarians attacked Ardour's Reach, by destroying the environmental shield projectors, they had unwittingly disabled any life support magic that were operating inside the mines, killing thousands of condemned prisoners as they slowly choked to death on ash and lack of oxygen. In addition, the disabling of these shields have also caused the eezo deposits within the ebony veins to emit dangerous radiation and free eezo particles throughout the tunnels. It is currently unknown when the mines will be brought online again, however it is expected to be in the near future as these mines supply nearly half of the Empire's ebony reserves.

- Codex: Imperial Law -

Imperial law is based upon two disparate codes of law; a law of high justice for trying members of the aristocracy and of the Imperial bureaucracy, as well as severe crimes, which must be brought to one of the Imperial magistrates within major cities; and low justice, which deals with petty crimes, such as theft, as well as issues pertaining to commoners. Low justice may be dealt with by the local watch captain or praefect, without prior designation of _imperium_ by the Elder Council or the Empress.

Low justice is unable to apply any of the more severe punishments, such as mutilation or execution; it may only impose fines, community service, and jail times below a year.

High justice may apply any punishment up to and including death. It is rare that a member of the commoners be subjected to high justice; the vast majority of them are either intimidated by the Inquisitorial Order, or have been 'disposed of'. However, this does not mean that the aristocracy are subject to more lenient treatment; any member of the public facing high justice are likely to be executed, or sentenced to a lifetime of hard labour inside one of the various Imperial state-owned industrial complexes.

Those condemned by high justice also risk running their colleagues and close companions being declared _persona non grata_, and thus be ordered to move away from Imperial cities or be slain. It is common practice that those condemned by high justice would have their companions spared, if they were to confess of their crimes before examination by one of the courtroom divination mages.

Courtroom divination mages are specialist mages, originally trained from the Order of the Ancestor Moth, who are given the ability to discern truth from whatever evidence they had been provided. Failing to discover truth on an initial examination of the site, they may consult an Elder Scroll in the Imperial City's Great Library through the use of a Dwemer Transcription Machine. However, due to the expense (and time) used to create a lexicon and read it, any criminal who has not confessed to crimes before being found guilty by the scribed lexicon would certainly find his sentence greatly increased, due to the addition of an 'obstruction of justice' term added to the charges.

Aside from the written law, Imperial law also includes a subsection regarding extrajudicial killings and destruction. Any inquisitor is permitted to destroy any object, living or unliving, provided it could be proven to be a threat to either the continued existence of the Empire, or were in the process of subverting a loyal agent of the Empire. Inquisitors are permitted great latitude in what they do; they are frequently cross-examined by their fellow inquisitors to determine any wrongdoing that they may have performed in their tasks. There have been notably few cases of inquisitors being terminated by another inquisitor.

A/N

Sorry it took this long to get the chapter up. I've only been able to work on it during the hour-long train rides to and from work; 10 hours of work each day a week = muse gone AWOL. Thankfully, workload should return back to normal, so expect another update in approximately a week ^^

Also, keep in mind that the Salarian STG and other black ops groups are likely to work around holes in this treaty, or work in a manner such that detected cells can be declared as unaffiliated. Kind of like how Cerberus works...damn black budget projects. They always never go down right .

Thanks for the reviews guys; feedback helps me improve the story, and catch errors that I wouldn't have picked up! This chapter should be the last of the 'First Contact' arc as relations between Nirnians and the Citadel begin to stabilise. Stay tuned for the next section!

A/N ^ 2  
Thank you to Eipok who picked up the mistake I made about the Imperial Law entry! I forgot about the "Discerning the Transmundane" quest where Septimius Signus uses a Dwemer Lexicon to transcribe an Elder Scroll. Made no sense to manually-read the scrolls. Fixed.

ArcturusWolf, signing out.


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